


Every Time is the First Time

by RowanStella



Category: Pretty Little Liars
Genre: Anger, F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Romance, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-08
Updated: 2014-12-24
Packaged: 2017-12-22 20:52:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 12
Words: 56,569
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/917898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RowanStella/pseuds/RowanStella
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"As soon as it’s over you push the memory into the farthest darkest corner of your heart." -Spencer Hastings</p><p>Updated December 2014 in tribute to the readers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. These Foolish Things

**Author's Note:**

> "Who can tell what metals the gods use in forging the subtle bonds which we call sympathy. Which we might as well call love."  
> -Kate Chopin  
> The Awakening
> 
> I do not own Pretty Little Liars.  
> Caution: Contains graphic dialogue and sibling incest. This is a work of fiction, if either upset you please just skip this piece.

**These Foolish Things**  

 

As soon as it’s over you push the memory into the farthest darkest corner of your heart.

Like the time she caught you in her room when you were thirteen. You were standing in front of her full length mirror willing your body to grow into it’s long awkward limbs. This was long before she moved into the barn.

Your barn.

This was before you stopped speaking. When she was just another far removed family figure, existing perpetually behind a closed door. But you had already started hating her. Because she was beautiful, and graceful. Because even your frantic, self deprecating, prepubescent brain knew that she was going to be something. Which was much more than you believed about yourself. And what’s worse, she couldn’t see how desperate you were for encouragement. For approval. At least until the moment she appeared behind you in the doorway as you wept in the middle of her room with your face buried in your hands. The long hands of a woman, on the skinny wrists of a girl. Everything gawking and mismatched.

You snuck into her room, and tried on her newest Badgley Mischka. It was a gorgeous dress. One you wish she would wear again. White, cap sleeved, knee length, with silver beading at the neckline. Perfectly tasteful, and elegant, but also form fitting, and sexy. On Melissa anyway. You don’t even have the will to zip the back when you see how it hangs on you. Falling in places she filled out, stopping too far past the knee because you aren’t finished growing. And the beautiful white that brightens her olive skin just washes you out. You’ll never be her. You’ve always known that. But this is the first time you acknowledge the thought. You’re falling to the floor when you feel her strong hands wrap around your forearms. You almost scream out until you see her reflection. Her expression is unreadable, but when she straightens your back against the front of her you can feel her irritation. And the fingers she winds around your biceps seem angry. But by the time she turns you around, and looks into your pathetically defeated face everything softens. And then all you see is pity and confusion, which only fuels your sobs as you fall against her. You wrap your arms around her neck, and let the sobs wrack your spindly frame. She freezes for a while. Shocked at the spektical you’re making, but also to her credit unaccustomed to the genuine emotion you’re showing, and the way you’re holding her - fixing her to this moment with you. Her hands unwind themselves from your arms, and when you feel one wrap around your waist you squeeze the back of her neck. She uses the other hand to rub the exposed skin of your back in slow, soothing circles. You stop crying. But you don’t release her, and she makes no move to push you away. You stay that way until your breathing returns to normal, and she guides you over to the foot of her bed and sits you down. She grabs a box of kleenex from the nightstand and sits beside you. Her hand cradles your chin and turns your face towards her. Her brow is furrowed like your father’s, but her eyes are soft like your mother’s were once. She cleans the makeup from your eyes, as carefully as one would wash a wound. She lets you blow your nose, and gets you a glass of water from the bathroom. You miss the contact the moment she leaves your side. But she returns with a haste that almost looks clumsy. She rubs your back again while you drink.

“Can you tell me what happened?”

It’s barely a whisper. You don’t have words for what it does to you. Just being asked what’s wrong. Being seen.

“Is it a boy?”

There is no judgement in her voice, but you feel ridiculous. So you blush, and chew your bottom lip, avoiding the question. You fidget under her eyes. She twines your hair behind your ear. You turn your head when she does, and you see the faintest beginnings of grin tug the corner of her mouth. Her eyes look bright with amusement.   
“Noel.”

“Khan?” Melissa’s eyes narrow.

You nod. And she purses her lips.

“I know his older brother Eric. The whole family is worthless Spencer.”

You prepare yourself to be dismissed, but instead she takes your hand.

“What did Noel do to get you so upset?”

You want to tell her that it’s not just Noel. That it’s everything. That you feel like you’re invisible. Like you’re drowning. But hyperbole would be lost on her.

“They call me Stretch. And today...” you take a moment to catch your breath. She runs her fingers up and down your spine. You tilt towards her.   
“Tell me what he did.” Her voice is steady in your ear. Stern. Strong.

“He told me I looked like a boy.” You feel ridiculous. But you can’t stop the tears that roll down your cheeks. She tilts your chin to face her again. She’s smiling now. And you think she’s going to tease you.

“Eric did the same thing to me when I was your age.” She bites her lip the same way you do, and shakes her head. “Fast forward to Junior Year when he asked to take me to Prom.”

She’s laughing now, a full laugh that you haven’t heard since you were very young.

“Did you go with him?” You feel guilty, because you should know the answer to this. But you can’t remember the last time you had anything approaching a conversation with her.

“No. I was already dating Ian. But that didn’t stop him from asking.”

She doesn’t tell you things are going to work out. Or that one day Noel Khan will ask you to prom. She just smiles, and stares at you. Waiting for you to catch on. Eventually you do, and you shake your head at yourself, and laugh. Just a little. Melissa stands and takes your hand. You let her. She pulls you up still laughing, and stands you in front of the mirror. She gathers your hair and throws it over your shoulder. The backs of her knuckles drag across your skin as she zips the dress. It fits you better than you thought. She reaches forward and pulls your hair behind your back. Her nails whisper against your neck. She’s not laughing anymore. Her hands trail down your sides and settle on your waist. You stop breathing. She steps up against you. Her eyes are locked on yours. Neither one of you blink. You wonder if it’s become another competition between you until you feel her fingers tense. Her breathing quickens. You’re not sure what to do, so you stay still. She seems to be struggling with something. She steps around you, and brings one hand up to your cheek. The pad of her thumb rubs your cheekbone. She’s looking at you like she’s never seen you before in her life. Melissa is close enough now that you can smell the Clinique on her freshly scrubbed skin, and the lavender in her still damp hair. She leans forward, and presses her lips to your temple. You close your eyes. When you open them. She’s still right in front of you. She’s still staring at you that way, but there’s a sadness that wasn’t there before. You’re thirteen, and you don’t understand.   
“Spencer.” She starts but she doesn’t continue right away. You wait.

“You’re beautiful.” You think you might cry again. You want to, but you don’t. You wait for a punchline that isn’t coming. The woman in front of you hardly resembles your sister anymore. You’ve never seen Melissa this out of sorts.

As quickly as the chink in her armor appears it’s gone. She clears her throat, and adjusts her stance to something more controlled. Challenging in a way.

“Turn around. You’re not stealing that dress.” Her voice is firm, but tinged with amusement. You let her unzip you. When you turn around, she’s holding her hand out. You fix her eyes in yours, and step out of it. This is new, but more natural, and it feels like another kind of contest you can’t place right now. You put the dress in her hand, and stand there. You make no move to cover yourself. Your jaw is set, and though you can’t see yourself in the mirror anymore, you know you’re wearing the same hardened expression as Melissa. She turns first, and hangs the garment. You seize the opportunity to pick your clothes up off the floor, and escape back to your bedroom. You’re gone before she turns around.

In your room, you fall onto your bed. Dizzy from the rush of emotions still surging through your chest. Heavy with the weight, and the promise of something you don’t have a name for yet. You’re almost sure you can hear her footsteps outside your door. You fall asleep on top of the covers, staring at the light from the hall, waiting for a shadow.

That was the first time you dreamt of Melissa.


	2. I Don't Stand a Ghost of a Chance with You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. This story is rated Explicit for a reason. There is some smut in this chapter. Comments are extremely appreciated. Again, if this paring is not for you please just stop reading now.

That was the summer Melissa left for college. You spent the rest of the school year sleeping with your door open. Sometimes she would smile at you. Sometimes she would wish you good night, before pulling your door shut behind her. But mostly, you were met with hurried sidelong glances, and oceans of silence.

She was drinking all the time now. You could see it in the way she braced herself against the doorframe when she thought you were asleep. The smell of it drifting over you the night she inexplicably sat down on the edge of your bed, and tucked you in. You didn’t move. You stayed turned away from her. She stroked your hair for a moment, before leaning over to press her lips to your cheek. Her breath reeked of it, and you were pretty sure the smell in her hair was not your father’s cologne.

She left early on a Saturday while you were out for a jog. You’re mother’s Mercedes was turning down Ash street. She honked at you and waved. Melissa looked straight ahead, all her belongings tucked neatly in the backseat.

When you got home the Badgley Mischka was laying on your bed. There was no note. You curled up on your bed clutching it under your chin and you cried.

You hung the dress in the back of your closet. You never put it on again. Once at slumber party Alison discovered it. You ripped it out of her hands, and tucked it back where it belonged. She called you a bitch.

It was that same summer that you met Alison. Narcissistic and bold. There was nothing she couldn’t do. She was going to be something. You were certain of it. Which was more than you believed about yourself.

With Alison came Aria, Emily, and Hanna. Suddenly your big empty house was filled with laughter. Though your parents were still missing most of the time, they seemed to take more interest in your life and your accomplishments than they had when Melissa lived there. Your father even made it to your first field hockey game. He was proud of you for joining a sport. He actually said those words.

“I’m proud of you Spence.”

Now there were sleepovers, and study dates. Games, practices, friends cheering your name in the stands. Ali was always the loudest of them. You couldn’t be sure, but you thought to yourself most nights that this must be what it’s like to have a family.

You started filling out, and growing into your looks. Noel Khan didn’t throw gum in your hair anymore, or call you names. This was probably because his voice broke over the summer and it cracked when he yelled.

You didn’t see Melissa again until she returned home for Spring Break. Ian was with her. Ali came to dinner with your family at the Country Club. Your mother and father toured the happy couple around while Ali spiked both your drinks. To your surprise Melissa asked you about school. Ian asked you about field hockey, and offered to give you some pointers. He was going to begin coaching soon.  
“Careful with that one Spence.” Ali whispered in your ear while the waiter picked up the plates. You blushed.

That night you and Ali got to stay up with Melissa and Ian. She sat beside you rambling about adulthood. College, her classes, her messy roommate, the handsome professors. She shared her glass of wine with you. You’d never felt so important. Upstairs, you had to tell Ali to shut up six times before she finally stopped talking about how attractive Ian was.

“He likes you, you know. He kept staring at you.”

You elbowed her in the side.

“Goodnight Ali.”

“Night Spence.”

You rolled over and faced the door. Ali was asleep when you heard Melissa on the stairs. She was giggling, a sound too childlike for her. You heard Ian’s heavy footfall behind her. You thought about them in her room together. In her bed. You thought about his hands in her hair, and the jealousy filling up your chest made you nauseous.

When you were certain you wouldn’t throw up, you tossed some water on your face, and opened the bathroom door. Ian was standing outside of it, shirtless, and inebriated. Behind him you could see Melissa perched at the foot of her bed. Her hair was mussed, and her shirt was open. She stared at you for a moment, and clutched her shirt closed, brushing a stray hair from her face. Ian glowered at you as you skirted around him. Back in your room Ali slept peacefully. You climbed into bed, and curled around her. She turned into your embrace, and held you back. You were still wrapped around each other the next morning.

You wished death on Ali when she threatened to tell Melissa that she caught you with Ian, and death came. You didn’t know why you kissed him. He was looking at you the way he looked at her. It baffled and thrilled you. That was your first kiss, and it happened for all the wrong reasons. 

But Ali was gone.

Ali was gone.

Ali was dead.

You repeated it over and over again to make it seem possible, but it never did. She was a force of nature. She was young. She was your friend. She gave you a place to belong.

You sat with Aria, Emily, and Hanna at the service, lined up behind Mr & Mrs. DiLaurentis. Mr. DiLaurentis did not cry. When they began to lower the casket into the ground you started sobbing. The force of it nearly causing you to fall forward out of your seat. You felt two steady hands pull your shoulders back. When you turned around you saw your sisters face. She didn’t look at you. Her oversized black sunglasses stayed trained on the casket. Her thumbs rubbed small circles in your shoulder blades. You had no idea how long she’d been standing there.

Melissa wordlessly drove you to the wake while you sat contemplating her motives.

Was she here for you? She wouldn’t even look at you.

Was she keeping up appearances? Your families hadn’t exactly been close.

No one had seen or heard from her since she and Ian broke up. Had he told her about the two of you?

When you arrived at the DiLaurentis home Melissa made the rounds, kissing cheeks, offering condolences. Aria asked you when your sister got back into town. You told her you had no idea. Hanna asked you why your sister was in town. You told her you had no idea. Hanna shrugged the mystery aside, and removed the flask from her purse. You took a long pull, and when you handed it back to Hanna you saw Melissa staring at you from across the room. Her arms crossed, her brow arched. You froze for a moment, but she resumed her conversation with Jason.

“She could be here for him,” you thought. He was a friend of Ian’s, and perhaps by proxy a friend of Melissa’s. You doubted that very much. He wasn’t the caliber of person Melissa would go out of her way to visit. Extenuating circumstances or not.

You spent most of the evening in the floor in front of Ali’s bedroom door. Suddenly it seemed rude to go inside. The three of you quickly finished Hanna’s flask. And Hanna demanded that someone go downstairs and steal a bottle of wine for the group. You were not as drunk as Hanna, or Aria. Emily was too afraid of getting caught, and what her parents would think.

Pinot Grigio.

Pinot Noir.

Malbec.

Merlot.

Cabernet Sauvignon. You picked it because it up because the name sounded graceful, and you were pretty sure this was the wine Melissa shared with you that night on the patio with Ian and Ali. It seemed fitting.

“Put it down Spencer.” Melissa was leaning in the doorway of the kitchen. She walked towards you, and placed her hand over the neck of the bottle. “You’ve had enough.” You let her place it back on the bar with the others.

“It’s not for me.” You felt like fighting, but you weren’t sure why.

“Hanna has also had enough.” She smiled at you a little, trying very hard to maintain her disapproving demeanor. You laughed because it was for Hanna, and that suddenly seemed hilarious. Ali would tell her to fuck off, and walk right back up the stairs a hero. Your laughter turned into hysterical sobbing, because the realization hit you that you wouldn’t get to hear your best friend tell people to fuck off anymore.

Melissa stepped forward and wrapped you in a tight embrace.

“I’m taking you home now.”

“I should say good-”

“You can see them tomorrow Spencer. I’m taking you home.” She wrapped an arm around your waist, and quickly ushered you to her car. She helped you in, and leaned over to buckle you. You caught a lock of her hair in your fingers, and played with it for a moment. She was still.

“Where are mom and dad?” You wrapped the shiny almost auburn lock between two fingers. The question was barely a whisper. You couldn’t believe you hadn’t thought to ask sooner.

She knew where they were. You could tell by the way she avoided your eyes. You released the hair you were toying with, and you reached across the console for her hand. The corner of her mouth raised into a half smile. She wore a serene expression that you rarely saw. She sighed heavily. Her eyes were dark when they found you again. She raised your hand to her mouth, and pressed her lips to the back of it.

“I’m here.” She held your eyes for a while longer before she released your hand. You did not press her for answers. It wasn’t the time. Something was shifting between the two of you.

At home Melissa had to help you up the stairs to your room. She sat you down, and told you to get ready for bed. She pressed her lips to your forehead, and left to get you a glass of water. You closed your eyes, and you leaned into her kiss. When you opened them she was gone. You couldn’t remember the last time anyone (besides Ian) showed you this much affection. It felt good. Better than that. It filled something inside of you. Like a hole you didn’t know was there. You took off your shirt, leaving only your bra. You were struggling with your pant leg when she came back. She stopped at the nightstand, her hand still around the edge of your glass. You stopped fighting with your slacks, and froze. Melissa’s eyes roamed over every inch of you. And something began building in the pit of your stomach. You wanted her to touch you. Your body screamed for it. Maybe it was the alcohol, but you didn’t worry about why. You didn’t care. You just burried your best friend. Something was missing, or broken inside you, but this...

This was an entirely new feeling.

Melissa broke out of her trance, and knelt in front of you. She untangled your pant leg, and slid them off. She let her fingertips drag up the back of your calves as she stood. You shivered, and any apprehensions you had were gone. You grabbed two fist fulls of her blouse, and crushed her mouth against your own. It was rushed, and sloppy, but you couldn’t slow down. You were desperate and her lips were the softest thing you had ever felt. You wanted more of her. You pulled her down on your bed, and laid on top of her. Her hands, which had been fixed to her sides slowly slid around your waist, and up your back. They came to rest in your hair. She tangled her hands in it, and flipped you over. You were pinned under her body as she raised up, and pulled her mouth just out of reach. You growled your frustration, and pushed your body against her.

“Stop.”

She laid her hand on  your chest. You could feel your heart clamouring against the warm skin of her palm.

She sat up, straddling you, and unbottoned her black silk blouse. Her dark eyes were glassy, and her olive skin was flushed. She rubbed her hands up and down the length of your torso, and started to roll her hips against yours. But she was very careful not to demand anything. She was nervous. Her small controlled motions were asking your body what it wanted. Could handle. Talking about one’s feelings was not a skill possessed by a Hastings, and open honest conversation was next to impossible for you and Melissa. So you sat up, and placed your hands on her back, pulling your bodies together. Your head was swimming, and every inch she touched was on fire. She smelled like Chanel N°5, and the wine she had earlier lingered on her tongue. You tried to kiss her again, but she placed both hands on the side of your face. She barely let your lips brush. You released another disgruntled huff, and she smiled against your mouth. You tilted your head for more.

“Wait.”

Irritation painted your features, as you let her take the lead. She brushed your lips with hers again. You felt her warm breath against your mouth. She caught your bottom lip lightly in her teeth, and smoothed over it gently with her tongue. You couldn’t stop shaking. You started to mimic her movements. She trembled in your arms. Placing her palms on your shoulders she laid you both back down, and pushed her tongue slowly across your bottom lip. You realized she wasn’t teasing you. She was showing you how she liked to be kissed. You opened your mouth for her without hesitation, and she explored you gently at first, trying to keep the pace. But she couldn’t stay in control. You were both hungry for each other. She took a ragged breath and filled your mouth with her own. And when she began grinding her hips into you again you moaned. Your breath was shaky. You felt light headed as she trailed her kisses down your neck, sucking on the skin just below your ear. Your body raised itself up and pressed against her knee. Your nails scratching roughly down her back. She fell against you, and pushed herself against your hip bone. The whimpers in your ear were so fragile and desperate you almost couldn’t believe they came out of Melissa. She reached under you and fumbled with your bra clasp. Palming your breasts harshly as you fixed your mouth to hers again. You knotted your fist in her hair, and placed your hand over hers as she pushed her knee harder against your core. Tearing her mouth away from yours she trailed wet, rushed kisses down your neck. She rolled your nipple between her thumb and forefinger, with eyes nearly black locked on yours as she captured it in her mouth. You lost yourself. Thrashing against her body, pulling her hair, pushing yourself harder against her. She got carried away. She meant to graze you with her teeth, but she bit down on you. You screamed, and pushed her head away. Panting, you pushed yourself up on the bed. She looked angry at first, like she was going to grab you. But she saw the blooming of a bruise and her face fell. The red flush of arousal that licked her skin evaporated. She sat up and ran her fingers through her messy hair as she tried desperately to catch her breath. She licked her lips. Her voice was small, laiden with remorse when she apologized. What’s worse, it sounded like she was apologizing for so much more. You didn’t say anything because you knew that you ruined it. You didn’t want her to stop. It hurt, and you were scared. You wanted to tell her, but you knew that words wouldn’t serve you in this situation. That this was something you did not, could not vocalize. The moment passed. You started to cry, because she was already so far away. She wrapped her arms around you, and kissed the side of your head long and hard. She looked like she might cry too. But Melissa never cried. She held you until you calmed down, and stood up. But she wouldn’t look at you. She grabbed her shirt and buttoned it quickly. She picked her cell phone up off the nightstand, and told you your parents would be home in an hour. She deliberated for a moment, in the center of your room. Her jaw set.

“Drink that water.”

You took the glass she set on your nightstand and you emptied it while she retrieved two tylenol from the bathroom. She filled another glass for you.

“You’ll thank me in the morning.”

You stared up at her with big, wet eyes. She leaned down and wiping your tears placed chaste kiss unto the corner of your mouth before she turned to walk away. You panicked.

“Wait! Please just...wait”

You sat up shirtless on your knees. Hands outstretched, grasping at the air between you. She didn’t turn around. She placed her hand on the wall to brace herself. Her posture was heavy, and defeated. She shook her head slowly.  

“Tell mom and dad I love them.”

Her steps echoing through your big lonely house. Her keyes picked up off the counter, and the sound of them ringing against her palm were the loneliest sounds you had ever heard until her engine reved. You cried until exhaustion overcame you.

The bruise on your breast took three weeks to heal. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter titles are all taken from Billie Holliday songs. I believe this story should end up between 5 and 7 chapters long, and should wrap up in present day (S4). I have most of it mapped in my head, and I will try to post quickly. I hate it when you get invested in a story and the updates stop so I'll try not to do that to you guys. Thank you again for reading.  
> Next chapter: Strange Fruit.


	3. Strange Fruit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CAUTION: References to self mutilation. Some physical violence. This chapter is sexually explicit. 
> 
> This chapter has finally caught up to the beginning of the series. It's a big relief being able to write Spencer's character as who she is without having to imagine who she was. I'm trying very hard to create a story that references the story arcs of the show without directly addressing them. I don't want to obsess over a timeline. So please keep that in mind. I feel like Spencer's voice comes across much more clearly in this chapter. I'm very sorry it took so long to post. I had an idea of how I wanted it to go in my head, but when I started writing it took on a life of its own. Which consequently required more time for editing and reviewing. I hope I did it justice.

 

Over the course of the next year you lost everything you thought you owned. Melissa haunted your dreams. Without Ali’s backhanded compliments and overbearing sense of entitlement your friends became acquaintances, and finally strangers. You joined any extracurricular activity that would accept you. You spent your every waking moment in the library. Anything to avoid going home. Counting the days to college admission, you threw yourself into your studies, often forgetting to eat for days at a time. It did wonders for your cheekbones. You became compulsive with your reading. Devouring everything you could get your hands on. You should have stayed away from the psychology section. You self diagnosed with countless personality disorders before settling on Histrionic (which was completely accurate). The self help section seduced you to start cutting, but you were lousy at self mutilation. You didn’t have the stomach for it. Couldn’t commit. You walked away with a few faint raised scars on the inside of your left thigh, and a lifetime supply of Vitamin E oil.

On a particularly lovely spring evening your mother texted you to be home for dinner at seven. Clearly she had been diagnosed with stage four Glioblastoma and three months to live if she was leaving the office before nine. Or she had “news”. A new case, another win for her office, something you would be forced to feign enthusiasm over for at least forty five minutes. To your alarm she was actually cooking when you got home, and your father was completing a mountain of paperwork in the living room.  

Both parents. Tumor. Clearly.

“Sweetheart how was school?” Your mother was serving roasted pork loin to you in her grey herringbone Jill Sander suit. You needed to sit down.

“Good. It was...” Your father patted you on the back and sat beside you at the island. He was smiling. “I don’t understand. Did something happen? Mom did you get fired? Are you sick?” Your parents exchanged puzzled glances.

“Spencer when did you get so cynical? Am I such a monster that I would have to be unemployed or ill to want to celebrate good news?” Her hand was on her hip. She was a hairs breadth from using your middle name.

“No. Of course not.” You stared at your food. Your father poured the wine. They smiled, and chatted about work, while you waited for an announcement that was not coming. Your father asked you about your game on saturday, and filled your ears with empty promises of future attendance. Your mother made your Nana’s cannolis for dessert. You were flabbergasted.

“Could someone please tell me what the hell is going on?!” Effectively shattering the merriment.

“Spencer! Language.” Your mother shoved the plate in front of you with fury painting her features. She studied you for a moment. And looked back at your father.

“Spence didn’t Melissa call you?” Your father laid a concerned hand on your wrist. Panic flooded your chest. You shook your head.

“Honey. Melissa is engaged. She called us this morning,” Your mother’s voice sounded distant. The blood was pounding in your ears. They were both waiting for you to say something. Anything. You felt sick. Your mother came around the island, and placed her hand on your shoulder.

“She didn’t tell you?” She squeezed lightly.

“Did you girls have a fight?” He asked the question simply enough. You wanted to laugh in your fathers face.

A fight.

Did you and your sister have a fight?

No dad.

She’s more aggressive in bed than I had anticipated but it was the one moment we were not arguing. Your pulse quickened with every passing second. There was a very good chance you were going to pass out.

“May I be excused?” You stood abruptly and placed two hands on the island to steady yourself.

“Don’t you want your cannoli?” Your poor mother. She was trying.

“No. I don’t want my cannoli.” Picking up your backpack you tried your hardest not run once you made it to the stairs. You fell back against your bedroom door, and paced angrily around your room.

She didn’t call you.

Of course she didn’t call you.

You picked up the photo on your dresser of the two of you at riding camp when you were eleven. Her large brown eyes squinting with sun and laughter as she pulled you tightly against her. A few strands of her wavy brown locks escaping from her helmet and tickling her pink cheeks. It was a good memory.

“Bitch.” You chucked it in the waste bin beside your desk.

That night you dreamt about Melissa. She was standing at the foot of your bed with her face in her hands sobbing. She was wearing the white Badgley Mischka. You sat up and called her name, but she didn’t acknowledge you. You stood up and approached her slowly. She reached out for you.

“Wait!.” Her hands pressed against your chest. Her hair was sticking to the side of her face, tears streaming from her soft brown eyes. You pressed forward and wrapped one arm around her waist. You cupped her face, and tried to dry the tears with your thumb. She smiled a little, and she kissed you softly at first. You broke away.

“I’m sorry.” Her apology whispered across your lips.

“I know.” You leaned forward and trailed your kisses down her neck. She leaned into your embrace. Your fingers found their way to her back, and unzipped her. The dress fell in pool at her bare feet. You started at her for a long time, the need in her eyes mirroring your own. She pulled you flush against her. Your hands were everywhere. Pulling at her. Her sharp intake of breath echoed in your ear. You kissed down the length of her, kneeling. You hooked your fingers in the waistband of her underwear, pulling them down just slightly, and pressed a kiss to the hollow of her hip. She sighed, and clutched the back of your head.

“Spencer breakfast!”

You bolted upright when you heard your mother’s voice. You ran to your closet and pushed your clothes back. The dress was still hanging from it’s hook at the back. You had no idea why it was so important to check. You touched the beading lightly with your fingertips before turning away. Rubbing your hand briskly against your face you walked across the hall to the shower. You took your time. Thinking you could scrub the sleepy memory of her touch away. Wrapped in a towel you stood in the doorway staring at Melissa’s room. Your mother left the door open so it wouldn’t collect dust. You remembered the night with Ian. The sight of her flushed skin and swollen lips. The edges of her white lace bra visible through her open blouse. 

Downstairs at breakfast you told your mother you were moving into the barn.

There was something empowering about electing your own level of isolation. A welcomed change of pace. Painting, sweeping, scouring filled your evenings long after you finished studying. But the memory of your last sleepover, the night Ali disappeared was never far. It only pushed you to work harder. If there was one thing your austere upbringing taught you, it was that anything can be swept under the rug if you ignore it long enough. You became so detached from the world around you that when the text messages began a part of you revelled in them.

Someone could see you.

The first few days of school brought you more than one conversation with your old friends. Aria had returned sans pink hair, and it delighted you to see her again. She was perhaps the person you had missed the most. More than Ali, though that truth brought more than a little guilt.

But the end of summer also brought Melissa home. This time with Wren in tow. She looked like a stepford wife. Day dress. White headband. Fake smile. She hugged both your parents, and stalled before attempting to reach out for you. You walked past her and shook Wren’s hand. Standing with her fiance wrapped around her, she complimented your work on the barn in the most patronizing way possible. And then informed you that she was taking it. Like she took everything. Your parents told you it was the only thing that made sense. She and Wren needed their own space while they tried to build their new life together.

“Spencer. It’s not forever. It’s only until Wren and I can find a home of our own. And then you can have it back.” She softened her voice like she was speaking to a petulant child. But there was an edge to every word she spoke to you. An anger and a malice around her eyes that you had never seen before. Beside her Wren apologized profusely. He had no idea that you were preparing the barn for yourself. You liked him. He was charming, handsome in a boyish way, and intelligent. He couldn’t be more wrong for her if he tried. He was sweet. She was complicated at best. He was smart. She was a genius. He was funny. She had no discernable sense of humor. He was silly,. She was reading Grapes of Wrath by the time she was in the 5th grade. You gave it six months tops before they called off the engagement.

The text messages became more frequent, and soon you found yourself back in your room with Hanna, Emily, and Aria. It appeared you were all being harassed by an unknown sender. It was kind of wonderful actually. As quickly as your little family fell apart, that’s how quickly they reassembled.

You just finished your first study date with Aria when you saw Melissa sitting on the patio. You hugged her goodbye.

“See you tomorrow Spence.” She called out over her shoulder as she trotted off your porch.

Just like that. You had a support system again.

Ever the glutton for punishment, you poured a glass of red from the bottle Melissa left on the counter and walked outside. She turned when she heard the door shut.

“Do mom and dad know you drink now?” She slowly readjusted her seat away from the table so she wouldn’t have to face you. You took a small sip from your glass, and pursed your lips.

“There are a lot of things mom and dad don’t know.” You kept your eyes trained on the stars, but you could feel her staring at you.

“How’s school going?” She folded her hands tightly in her lap, resigning herself to the fact that she would have to acknowledge you as a living breathing human being.

“How’s the barn treating you?” You arched a brow and gave her only a side glance. Humor tugging up the corner of your mouth.

She release an exasperated “Jesus Spencer” before standing abruptly.

“Can we have one. Just one! Polite conversation? Is that too much to ask? For you to behave like an adult for five seconds and attempt some semblance of civil dialogue?” She drained her glass, and set it down on the table so forcefully you feared the stem might shatter. You sat upright in your seat, every inch of you shaking with anger at her onslaught.

“POLITE CONVERSATION?! YOU HAVEN’T SPOKEN TO ME SINCE...” You looked at her, and fury danced along her graceful features. She dared you with venomous eyes to finish that sentence. You swallowed it back, and fumbled.

“We haven’t talked for a year.” Self righteousness was all but extinguished, and the attack you almost made left you terribly afraid and pitifully exposed. She walked around the table and gently lifted your wine glass out of your hand before bending down to look you square in the face. She held you in her stare for several uncomfortable seconds. Her mouth tasted like wine that night. Now her breath on your skin smelled of it. You clenched your fists in your lap. She almost smirked.

“No. There was nothing to say.” She stayed eye level with you, her face completely indifferent until you broke, and looked away. She finished your wine, and walked out into the silver night towards the barn.

Life continued in much the same fashion for the next week or two.  If any words passed between you and Melissa they were either underhanded and malicious, or a full on attack. Even those were rare. Ever the clever General. Melissa knew the most effective way to battle you, was to ignore you completely. It hurt in ways you could barely understand.

The more time passed the worse you felt for Wren.  He was so out of place in  your blood thirsty little brood.  He asked you about Melissa once.  About whether or not the two of you had ever been close.  You pictured her dark eyes peering down at you has she raked her blunt nails down your sides,  and the sounds she made when she began grinding down against

your hip.

"There were moments” you told him.

Mostly he just seemed to enjoy your company.  The feeling was mutual. Soon you felt it becoming more for him. Passing from friendly  conversation to outright flattery and flirtation.  It wasn't like it had been with Ian.  It wasn't innocent. You encouraged him. You wanted to hurt her. Or so you thought. The truth was, you would take anything you could get at that point.

You heard her on the stairs the night he kissed you in your room. The look on her face. You couldn’t believe she didn’t hit you. You couldn’t believe that he left your home with his life. She cornered you. She screamed at you. But it was wrong. She threw insults. She called you names, but nothing stuck. It was all empty somehow. Like her anger was there but her heart wasn’t in it. Didn’t feel the way you anticipated. You weren’t vindicated. And it wasn’t until you began analyzing just how screwed up it was trying to elicit her rage that you made a real attempt at an apology.

She wouldn’t hear it.

After the first blow up, the name calling, she wouldn’t even let you finish your sentence. She just turned and walked away from you. You found yourself right back where you started. You couldn’t believe what you had done. To her. To him. You stopped apologizing. You stopped speaking to her. You stopped looking at her. You stopped checking the patio for her silhouette before bed.

The second week after the incident she appeared in the middle of your room. You were brushing up on Russian History when you saw her. You had no idea how long she had been standing there. She was wearing her red off the shoulder Donna Karan sweater, and black jeans. Her eyes were frantic. You closed your textbook, and stood up slowly, but you did not approach her. For reasons you could not decipher she looked dangerous.

“How could you do this to me?” It came out low, each syllable sharply punctuated. She took slow firm steps towards you.

“I didn’t...”

“NO!” She grabbed you by your upper arms and slammed you back into the wall so hard that it took your eyes a moment to focus again. She squeezed you tighter. She didn’t care about the bruises it would leave. She leaned in and wrapped her hand around your throat, forcing you to look into her eyes.

“Why. Did. You. Do it?” She spit the words through clenched teeth as she tightened her grip. She was going to strangle you. You pushed your palm into her sternum, and tried to struggle free. She closed her fingers, and pushed your head back into the wall again.

You panicked.

“Mom and dad are going to hear you.” You whispered as you tried to pry at her fingers.

“Mom and dad are having cocktails with clients.” She laughed, but the sound was forced and dry. She loosened her grip on your neck but still kept you pinned.

“Why?”

You stopped struggling, and stood up straighter. You looked into her eyes. She hated you.

“To make you jealous.” The answer was meek and caught you both off guard.

“Jealous?!” She dropped her hand from your neck and stepped back. She was truly amused. “Of you??” Spat out with chuckle, as though you had just said the most ridiculous thing she had ever heard.

“No.” You straightened out your shirt, and pushed yourself upright. You stood in front of her.

“Of him.”

Her features didn’t soften, but they did change. Moving first to disbelief, to puzzlement, and finally contemplation. She pulled a trembling hand through her hair, and locked eyes with you again. She nodded twice to herself.

“It worked.”

Her words took a moment to root. By that time her mouth was already on yours. Her tongue forcing its way inside. You grunted from the force and grabbed the back of her head, both of you fighting for dominance. There was no tenderness, only the explosion of a longing that had been building for two years. In that moment, nothing was enough. She ripped open your blue J. Crew oxford, and lifted you into her arms. You wrapped your legs around her never breaking the kiss. She threw you down on your bed, and made quick work of her own clothes. You sat up on your elbows. She was clad only in her black lace bra and underwear. You had never seen anything more beautiful in your life. The only sound in the world was your own heaving breath as she stood over you, mouth open, eyes wide and unbottoned your jeans, flinging them to the ground.

She stood staring at your now bare legs for a moment before wrapping her hands around your thighs, and pulling you to the edge of the bed against her. She wrapped her hand around the back of your neck, and brought your mouth to hers with renewed fire. Her tongue was punishing. Tearing away she grazed your jaw with her teeth before biting down firmly on the muscle between your neck and shoulder. You whimpered in her ear and bit down on the lobe. She made a sound deep in her throat that was somewhere between a cry and a moan. You fumbled with the clasp of her bra and threw it over your shoulder. She reached for yours, but you pushed her shoulders back. She stood up and looked down at you, confused and perhaps worried for a moment. But you stared up at her with eyes half closed from desire, and ran your hands from her hips to the sides of her breasts. She closed her eyes at the contact, and licked her lips. You cupped her breasts and circled her pert nipples with your thumbs. She shuddered, and leaned forward. You brought her breast to your mouth, and circled her with your tongue. She wrapped a fist in the back of your hair, and arched into you. Raking your teeth along the sensitive skin, you bit down and she went rigid and pushed you back. You were smiling faintly when you fell back against the bed. She looked upset for moment before remembering that night a year ago. She only half smiled before climbing on top of you. She didn’t bother with a clasp, she wrapped her fingers under your bra, and ripped it over your head. Without preamble she sucked one nipple roughly into her mouth, pinching and palming the other. You attempted to stifle your cries, but you were already mumbling her name. Writhing beneath her like some wounded animal. She sat up on her knees between your spread legs, and pulled her nails slowly down the inside of your thighs. Your back arched off the bed. She was watching you through half lidded eyes as she lowered herself back down, and slid her hand between your bodies. She cupped your throbbing core through damp underwear. Huffing her approval in your ear as she trailed her teeth back along your jaw kissing you deeply. You put your hand over hers and moved down against it. It was all the encouragement she needed. She sat up in one movement and ripped the last remaining garment from your body. She slid her own off slowly for you. Eyes fixed on yours. You tried to sit up but she pushed you back with one hand, and brought her wet center down firmly against your thigh. Your breath caught in your throat at the contact, and you grabbed her head in your hands and kissed her roughly. She pulled her head away and positioned herself over you. With eyes locked on yours she shoved three fingers inside of you. You screamed and dug your nails into her back. She also cried out. The pain, the feeling of being inside you both playing equal parts. She pumped them in and out forcefully, and eventually the burning ache you felt was replaced with mounting pressure. You wanted her to feel it too. You reached down, and found the tight bundle of nerves quickly and and grazed it with your thumbnail. Adjusting herself over your thigh, she grabbed your hand and pushed two of your fingers inside of herself. You kept pace with one another, establishing a harsh rhythm. Your breath became shallow when she began twisting her fingers as she pulled out of you. It was impossible for you to recreate the friction for her with the angle of your wrist, but it suddenly became very important to you to take her with you. You flicked your thumb across her clit once more and circled it as you raised your thigh, pushing yourself deeper inside of her. She cried out, and fell down against you. A tangled mess of limbs and moans you used all of yourselves to push each other towards ecstasy. And when you came it was with open eyes, staring into one anothers faces. Your open mouths close, lips touching. Breathing the others expended breath.

She laid her head on your heaving chest. Her fingers lingering inside you, reluctant to leave your warmth. You wrapped your arms around her. She trailed silent kisses along your collarbone before raising up to look at you. Her face was open, and vulnerable. You’d never seen her so unguarded. She pulled out, and you shuddered at the loss of her. Cupping your face, she kissed you passionately. You had no words for what just happened, what you were seeing in her now. So you said nothing. She trailed her fingertips reverently along your lips before sitting up. She straightened her back, and moved to the edge of your bed. You sat up, but before you could open your mouth, she placed a calming hand on your shin.

“I understand why you kissed him.”

You pulled the corner of your comforter up to cover yourself suddenly shy, and waited for her to continue. She turned towards you.

“That doesn’t mean I forgive you.”

There was no anger in her stare. Only hurt.

“Ok.” You looked into her eyes and nodded just once. She squeezed your leg, and stood up, throwing her clothes on quickly. She stopped in your doorway and let her eyes linger over you for a moment longer. When they met yours again she blushed and smiled to herself before pulling the door shut silently behind her.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading. Next chapter: I'm A Fool to Want You.  
> Again, I know where I'm going with this it's just the process of getting there. I really appreciate your patience. I will try to update within a weeks time.


	4. I'm a Fool to Want You - Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised I'm updating within a weeks time. I really want to thank everyone who stopped by to comment and leave kudos. It was wonderful hearing from some of you. This chapter is only half finished. Like I said before it will probably run a little longer than the others because it spans a couple weeks. I really hope you enjoy it. There is smut in this chapter, but I feel like more than that it sets up their new found dynamic. Rocky times ahead. Remember this takes place after the Wren incident, and before Melissa marries Ian.

You entertained the thought of having dreamt your encounter with Melissa only until you sat up. The ache between your legs confirming that it had been real. You thought about her face masked in afterglow. The way she kissed you before she left. The way she lingered in the door. You wanted to stay there forever. Making your way to the shower was a little difficult. You were more stiff than you would have thought. The sheets would need to be washed. And still you hadn’t finished prepping for that History test. Listing tasks of the day stopped promptly when you caught yourself in the mirror. You looked like you’d been beaten. There were three hickies on your neck. A bite on the muscle above your shoulder. Another on your breast. Your sides and the inside of your thighs were covered in half moon shaped nail marks and long scratches. You felt the panic rising in your chest as you pushed your hair around to cover the marks. You took a deep steadying breath and closed your eyes. This could not be happening. You were going to get in the shower, and hope the heat would ease some of the swelling.

Melissa was sitting on the edge of the sink when you exited, twisting her fingers in your towel. Her hair was still damp from her own shower, and she was uncharacteristically underdressed in black yoga pants and her grey UPenn Alumni tshirt. You actually made a motion to cover yourself, but stopped when she tilted her head to the side in amusement. She held the towel out for you, and pushed off the sink. You wrapped yourself, and grabbed a second towel for your hair.

“Three bathrooms in this house, and fourth in the barn.” You were trying to sound irritated, but you weren’t sure why. It came out more afraid than annoyed.  Seeing her was more than you were prepared to handle this early in the morning. And what was the protocol? Were you supposed to act like nothing happened? Walking around Rosewood covered in marks that might as well spell her name? She was rummaging through a small black case on the vanity.

“I thought you could use a hand this morning.” She turned with a small vial of what had to be extremely expensive concealer. Her face was masking any emotion but her voice was softer than it had been in weeks.

You stopped towel drying your black hair, and slumped in defeat.

She stood behind you in the mirror. Her face was calm, curious as she trailed her cold fingers around each puffy bruise on your neck. She locked eyes with yours, as her hands snaked around you, and her fingertips danced over the fold of the top of your towel. You did not move. You clenched your jaw the same as she did, and tilted your head higher which was something you both learned from your mother. She placed two gentle hands on your shoulders, and turned you around to face her.

“Sit down.”

You stepped around her, holding your towel to you as you took a seat at the vanity. The fact that you inhaled sharply when you sat did not go unnoticed. Her long fingers wrapped around your chin and tilted your head up and back. She pulled your hair back from your face and neck. You tried to stare at anything but her. She was so close. And her touch was gentle, and careful as she dabbed the concealer around and along the marks she left. Stopping inches from your face to take a closer look at the blemish before moving on to the next. You could smell her body wash. But she was seemingly unphased by your proximity. Her brow was furrowed, focused.

“I’m going to apply a light level of powder to hold it in place. You’ll have to skip field hockey practice.”

You started to protest but she waved a hand in front of you.

“Spencer you’ll sweat right through this. If you want to make something up be my guest, but people will see them.” She was tired of fighting. It showed in her gestures. Resembling not quite defeat, but something more akin to fatigue. You turned and faced the mirror. She had done a remarkable job. You couldn’t see the hickies at all.

“Like it never happened.” You didn’t know why you said it. She recoiled a little.

“Sure. Never happened to your neck. If the rest of you bears any resemblance to my back I’d suggest you cover up as much as possible.” She was upset. Throwing her cosmetics back in their small leather case. You caught her wrist when she turned to leave. She didn’t pull away, but she wouldn’t look at you either.

“Show me.” It was a whisper of a request. A test. What could you get away with now? What could you ask for? More of her? And in what words? Was last night just a heated moment? A one off? What was she feeling? You could see fear behind her eyes. You were also afraid. You were afraid it would never happen again. You clutched your towel and stood up grimacing slightly from the effort it took. She turned around slowly, and lifted the back of her shirt up around her neck. She hadn’t put a bra on yet this morning, and her back broke out in goosebumps, despite the warm balmy surroundings. It was a completely silent moment. The marks down her back were worse than your thighs. Deep bloody scratches from your nails even as short as you kept them. You traced the raised edges with care. She was holding her breath.

“Stay there.” You squeezed her hand and when you returned it was with a bottle of neosporin. You showed it to her.

“They look closed, but it may burn a little.” She pressed her lips into a thin line, and nodded over her shoulder. You dabbed the raised, angry marks with the pad of your middle finger trying to press as lightly as possible. Her muscles pulled taught the olive skin on her back. You could feel your blood begin to hum. When you finished painting along her spine you gently lowered the back of her shirt. She was still. Before you could stop yourself you leaned in and pressed a kiss just behind her ear. It was a moment before she turned around, and it was the longest of your life. Waiting to see how she would react. Or worse, not react. Her mask was slipping when she faced you again. Desire ebbed up around her edges, making wide her eyes. Her mouth open just slightly, granting her an almost dazed appearance. She looked down at the hand you had wrapped around your towel.

“Show me.” She whispered your words back to you. A test. A dance. When you unfolded the wrapping of your only garb she met your eyes again, and was visibly shaken by your answer. The bathroom was so silent that the sound of the towel falling to the tile practically echoed off the walls. She swallowed and let her fingers run over the raised bruise on your breast, as something like regret fluttered behind her eyes. She traced the long skinny bruises her fingers made on your forearms, and stepped back. Her touch as it ran down your sides made the muscles in your abdomen jump. The air was thick between the two of you. It felt like drowning. You were so far gone that when she dropped her hand to ghost across the scratches she had left along your thighs you fell forward against her shoulder with a sound slightly deeper than a whimper. She wrapped her arm around your waist and whispered your name in your ear as she dragged one finger through the heat of you. Your knees buckled the moment it happened, and she pulled you like a puddle into her lap on the floor. She left her finger to press against where you needed her most while she kissed lightly along the shell of your ear with agonizing slowness. You reached down and pulled her shirt up over her head. She had a bruise to match yours on her otherwise flawless chest. You traced the edges, smiling a little in spite of yourself. She cradled the back of your head in her hand and kissed you deeply. It was like the kiss she gave you before she left your bed. It was heavy with emotion, and unspoken promises. Weighted with all the words you wanted to say to each other, but couldn’t possibly. Because what was happening, as inevitable and necessary as it might have been was still wrong. And no matter how desperately you wanted to say all the things you felt you knew with all certainty that would never happen. Your body started to move against her hand, still pressed against you but completely stationary. She chuckled softly in your mouth. You felt two fingers slide down and push gently inside of you. You jumped and gripped her shoulders. She stared up at you bewildered by the motion.

“You don’t want…” she couldn’t finish her sentence.

This was not a time for talking. You chastised your actions in your mind as you struggled to explain as succinctly as was humanly possible.

“No. I do. I…” You blushed deeply, and looked to the side. Her fingers were still resting against you, scared to move forward, and too eager to move away. You took a deep breath.

“It’s still...it hurts. A little. Is all.” Your voice was so soft, and scared you hardly recognized it. You sized up her reaction from the corner of your field of vision. Still too shy to look at her. Her face had fallen, and she wrapped both arms around your lower back. She sighed heavily, and stared down. She was silent for so long, her voice almost startled you.

“I’m sorry.”

You turned your head abruptly.

“Don’t. Please don’t.” You kissed her with desperate panic.

“No. Spencer. I’m just sorry I was like that. I shouldn’t have been so….forceful.” You were relieved but god...talking like this, circling around the point, and mentally grooming every sentence to indirectly address what was happening between the two of you was exhausting.

Would it always be like this? Would you always be running from each other? Always hurting each other, and swimming in half muttered apologies? You ran your thumb across her lips, and trailed teasingly light kisses along her shoulders and up her neck.

“I’m not.” It was nothing more than a breathy whisper in her ear. She had you on your back in one fluid movement. You made no attempt to mask your shock. You wrapped your legs around her, pulling her on top of you. Enjoying the weight of her. She let her hands wander down your thighs and up your torso, caressing every inch of you. She kept kissing you that way. That breathless, desperate way. You loved it. Her hands were quickly replaced by her mouth. Moving down the length of you, paying attention to every bruise, every scratch. Running her mouth down the scratches on your sides before pulling back. Her eyes never left yours as she placed a long kiss in the hollow of your hip. You touched the side of her face, and nodded just barely. She pushed herself further down and began kissing the insides of your thighs softly. Just the scene itself, watching her kiss up and down your legs, knowing what was next; was nearly enough to push you over the edge. But she stopped. Her face only a couple inches from your left thigh, her fingers stroking the skin gently. You leaned up on your elbows. She was touching your scars. For the first time, you were deeply ashamed of them.

“When did you do this?” She was still staring at them, kissing them, stroking them with careful fingers. You didn’t answer, you stayed up on your elbows staring at the top of her head. Wishing they would simply disappear before you had to tell her. They didn’t, and then she was staring up at you, waiting.

“About a year ago…”She watched you for what felt like forever. Processing. She nodded to herself slightly, and peppered them with kisses that startled you with their tenderness. You laid back down, watching her.

She stopped.

She turned her head.

She closed her eyes.

She pushed her tongue inside of you slowly. Every moment of it enflamed you. You cursed. You grabbed her head. You pushed yourself down against her. But when she found you, your body revolted, and started pulling away from her ministrations. She wrapped both hands around your thighs and pulled you back. Her tongue drew small, controlled circles on your sex for all of about three minutes before the panting set in. Beads of sweat kissed your chest, and hair line. You chanted her name as you felt your body lock up, the force of it pulling your shoulders up off the ground. Her touch grew softer as the spasms inside of you grew fainter. When you stilled she kissed her way back up your abdomen. Your own wet chilling your heated flesh. You wrapped your arms around her as she buried her face in your neck. She laid her palm over the scars, and leaned up on her elbow.

“Don’t.”

She didn’t have to say anything else, and you wouldn’t have been able to handle it if she had. You choked up, and wrapped your arms around her neck. Kissing her with all you could spare as you fought back the tears. It was strange tasting yourself on her tongue, but not unpleasant.

“I made coffee.” She arched a brow in an attempt to ease your mood. It worked. You laughed and kissed her again sweetly. She laid her head on your chest. You were going to be late for school.

“I think I should give up on first period. I need another shower.” You laughed together on the floor for a moment. You craned your neck closer to her ear.

“So do you.” She raised her head and smirked.

You took her twice in the shower.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright gang. Comments are more than welcomed they are relished. I love hearing from you guys. I know I said at the start of the chapter that rocky times will soon follow. That's true in any good story. But I want you to know now, that this isn't a tragedy. There is enough sadness in the world. I'm not ending on a low note. I'll try to post again within a week. Keep an eye out for I'm a Fool to Want You - Part 2. Have a lovely weekend.


	5. I'm a Fool to Want You - Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As mentioned in the previous chapter. Rocky times ahead. This chapter is pretty angst ridden, but I felt like it was time to actually acknowledge what was happening between them. I want to apologize now for any typos, and for the delayed post. I have had zero time to edit, and I had family in town for the weekend so I couldn't update on Friday. I hope this was worth the wait. Please see the notes at the bottom.

The most challenging part of engaging in a love affair with your emotionally unavailable older sister is that you have no one to aid you in processing age old questions. Does this make me a lesbian? A bisexual? Are we exclusive? Does it matter? Because identity crisis aside the bigger issue is that you were an active participant and aggressor in a relationship with Melissa. You knew that. But that simply did not feel like what it was. For all your critical thinking, and problem solving prowess you could not see the forest for the trees when it came to her. What’s more, you didn’t care. You had spent your entire life hopelessly alone, and ignored. Eeking your way out of her ever eclipsing shadow until suddenly you seemed to be the only thing she thought about. You felt loved. Which may not sound like much, but for you it was earth shattering. And you were dead set on doing anything and everything in your power to encourage her affection. Even if she never said “I love you.” Even if it meant all your encounters occurred on her terms. So what if she never invited you to the barn? Or barely looked at you when she wasn’t inside of you. Or never let you go down on her. It was only a matter of time until she pushed you into the laundry room again, and took you standing up against the washer. Whispering superfluous sentiments in your ear. Or retrieved a blanket from the back of the couch staring at a movie you selected as a ruse while you circled the heart of her with your index finger. So in control that the only indicator she finished was a long slow blink, and a fleeting tremor in her left leg.

The curve of her breast, the heat of her was so intoxicating you could not see the havoc it was reeking on you. You died a little every time you felt the bed rise. Every time she left you bracing the kitchen counter as the blood made it’s way back to your legs. Cold from the loss of her, and empty the moment she turned to walk away.

But she was hardly to blame for your ever increasing paranoia.

The text messages became not only more frequent, but more specific. Things you had done. Things you had told only Ali in the hushed dark embrace of your bedroom. -A was going to find out about this. You were certain of it. You wanted, no needed to talk to Melissa about this. But you never spoke anymore. Everything you had to say you communicated through touch. Melissa was aloof and self obsessed on a good day.

But she wasn’t blind.

For weeks she ignored the fact that you immediately closed all the blinds in your room before you would let her approach you. Whispering, and forcing her to whisper even when it was certain that you were alone in the house. Sometimes when it was over you wouldn’t let her go, sobbing into her shoulder, begging her forgive you for something you hadn’t done yet. That something being putting an end to this before it ruined you both. As hard as her success was on your life. As much pressure as that put on you. You would not, could not be the reason she lost everything she had ever wanted.

The first time it ended was on a car ride back from your family’s lake house. She arrived a day late. You had just finished a swim, and decided to read on the dock while you dried. The sound of her black mercedes rumbling up the gravel drive broke your sunny reverie. She was still dressed in her work clothes. White oxford, black slacks and heels. Her suit jacket slung over her shoulder. She was staring at you through a huge pair of Donna Karran sunglasses. In that moment you were certain that she was the most beautiful woman that had ever lived. She pushed her sunglasses up on the top of her head, and took a step towards you. Your heart skipped. Your mother rushed out the door before she made it another inch, and wrapped her in an embrace. She grabbed her luggage and ushered her indoors. Melissa looked over her shoulder at you when she reached the porch. Just for a moment. It was enough.

You took a shower before dinner to wash the pond residue off your skin. You were in your underwear when the door opened. Melissa quickly shut the door behind her and pinned you against the sink. Her kiss was rushed but not rough. She pulled away first, and looked down. You trailed kisses from her temple to her jaw. She kissed you once more, briefly.

“Dinner’s ready.” She turned and left abruptly. You could not help but feel a little smug over the encounter. Melissa never instigated when your parents were within a mile of the two of you. Dinner was quiet and awkward, but not as awkward as that night. It was the first time you had shared the room since all of this started. You could barely look at each other. Sleep was completely out of the question. Melissa sat with her laptop open on her thighs and her back propped up against the headboard of her tiny twin mattress. She was wearing a Salty Dog cafe tshirt she brought back from Hilton Head, and a pair of grey running shorts. Her long toned legs crossed at the ankle. Even seated she was nearly too long for the mattress. You wore an old field hockey tshirt, and nothing else. Daring her even then, to cross the distance between your two small twin islands. You had been reading the poetry of Donald Justice for about 45mins when you felt her eyes on you. She didn’t look away when you turned towards her. She slowly shut the lid of her laptop and set it beside her.

“What were you working on?” You began because she obviously was not going to strike up a conversation after what happened that afternoon. Baby steps.

“It’s just a presentation.” Something was on her mind. She was shutting you down. You went back to your book.

“Spence.” You closed your book again, and smiled as you looked back at her.

“Melissa?”

“Poetry?” Melissa’s voice was tinged with taunting and disbelief. She arched her brow and chuckled at you.

“What? I can read poetry! Not everything that passes through Hastings hands has to be Dostoyevsky or Roe V. Wade.” You tossed a pillow at her.

“Fair point. A well rounded education is important.” She mocked her finger on her chin the way your father did when he was pretending to listen to an opposing argument.

“Shut up.” You laid down with a forced ‘humph’ and leaned up on your elbow to face her.

“Apologies. Who were you reading?” She removed her thick framed reading glasses, and sat indian style on the mattress facing you.

“Donald Justice. Aria gave it to me. He’s one of her favorites.” You ran your fingers over the worn edges of the pages. She was silent for a while. She was thinking, and perhaps a bit troubled. She smirked, a sad hopeless half grin when she looked at you again.

“All these maneuverings to avoid…”

“What?” You made a move to sit up. Something was wrong. Melissa was quickly retreating into her own thoughts with a face full of defeat. You swallowed harshly, you wanted so desperately to hold her. To talk to her about this thing between you, about the texts, about stopping. About running away to Europe together! Anything. She reached out and flicked off her bedside lamp.

“Get some rest Spencer.” She laid down on her right side facing the door. You set the book down on the nightstand and flicked your light off. Staring at her back while she slept. Thinking at least tonight she couldn’t disappear.

You left the following evening. To your eternal surprise Melissa offered to drive you. It was a hot sunday night, and you had fallen into a dreamy quiet watching the trees scrape by your window.  The jarring rumble of gravel crunching under the wheels startled you when she pulled off the highway, and parked in the woods about fifteen minutes from the Rosewood city limits. She laid the keys on her dash, and stared at you as she pushed her seat back from the wheel. She turned towards you. She didn’t speak a word. She didn’t have to. It was written all over her. The way she chewed at the corner of her mouth. Moving her hands along her pants and shirt to disguise fidgeting with the adjusting of a hem, or removal of imaginary lint. Looking at you with eyes at half mast. You leaned up over the armrest and kissed her passionately. Arousal clouding your head. Making you hastey. She took your bottom lip in her teeth before she pushed you back, and told you to take off your clothes. You didn’t hesitate. You responded so quickly that she grabbed your hands, and kissed you again, gently this time. You stopped unbottoning your shirt.

“Slower.” She sat back, and watched you continue. You were nervous. It was public even if it was rural. But you couldn’t heed the warnings in your head. You’d barely slept the night before thinking of her.  And now she was here, staring at you, wanting you. You acquiesced without preamble. Her skin flushed with desire. Her eyes bore into yours. Her breathing was fast and shallow. You slipped your underwear off, as she unclasped her belt.

“Come here.” She gave you her hand. You climbed as gracefully as you could manage, into her lap. You felt more exposed than ever. The windows of the car didn’t help. But it was more about being in such a confined space with her, sitting on her. On display. The feeling didn’t last long. She was looking at you reverently. Running her hands up your thighs, and stomach. She smiled in a way that looked shy. Touching you as though this was the first time, while you lifted her own shirt over her head, and tossed it in the backseat. Her hands pressed against your shoulder blades as she pulled you against her, burying her face in your hair. And then nothing. She embraced you, wrapping her arms tightly, and released a heavy breath in your ear. You wrapped your hand around the back of her neck, suddenly worried.

“Melissa.” The moment you whispered her name she tensed. Steeling herself against whatever was next. You ran your fingers slowly through her hair, massaging her scalp.

“Talk to me.” You pushed her back, and held her face in your hands. She was so close. You were so close. There was nowhere to look. She couldn’t run away. Or stand up and leave. She let out another sigh, before fixing her face into a forced calm. She twined her hands in yours. She kissed each of your knuckles.

“It’s nothing.” She smiled another sad smile like the night before and fixed her mouth to yours with an intensity that alarmed you. Not by it’s brutality. But with it’s blatant undisguised need. She was begging you for something. She was frantic. You kissed her back ardently. Trying desperately to hold her as tightly as she held you. You pushed your tongue into her mouth, and she fell back against her seat. She received you. Everything you had ever felt for her you put in that kiss. Because she was letting you, and because she was sharing a secret with you.

She was completely empty.

You could taste it on her. You didn’t know how she had been hiding it all this time. The weight of it terrified you, and she felt it happen. She broke the kiss, and pushed you back. Her mask fastened firmly back on her features, slipping around the eyes and mouth. Places she could never hide her tell when she wanted you.  You ran your hands slowly up her body, pinching her nipples. She arched against you, and moaned into your mouth. You took your time with each  other. Roaming the expanse of naked flesh with fevered lips and trembling hands. She whispered your name when you sucked on the soft flesh behind her ear. It was burning up in that car. The windows were fogging, the leather stuck to your knees and her back. Melissa leaned up and licked a bead of sweat that had rolled down your clavicle all the way up to your jaw. You gave a deep throaty laugh, and pulled your nails down her spine. She pushed two fingers into you without warning. You gasped from surprise, and pulled back to watch her. She liked to see your face. She was deeper than usual in this new position. You gripped her shoulders and ground your hips down against her hand.

“Lean back.” She was so quiet you could barely hear her. Inside the car was so hot neither of you could breath. You leaned back, and she curled her fingers inside of you as her thumb ghosted over your clit. You felt your face contort into a scream but you didn’t make a sound. The angle was perfect, and she was touching something inside of you that you didn’t know existed. You pushed down harder, and she met you thrust for thrust with equal force. The wet sound of skin against skin was the only noise apart from your heaving attempts to breathe. Your ears began to ring, and you squeezed your eyes shut from the pressure building inside you. You came screaming her name. She pulled you against her as you shuddered, and jerked. Your muscles locking you around her. Your breath was a high pitched pant in her ear as you wrapped your arms around her shoulders, clinging to her.

“I love it when you do that.” She was whispering directly into your ear. Lips rubbing along the ribs.

“Do what?” Your head was still swimming from release. It was the strongest thing you had ever felt. Her fingers were still anchored inside of you, as she ran her hand up and down your back.

“Scream. When you’re loud. When you can’t fight it, and you stop whispering.” She kissed the damp skin on the side of your neck. You laughed a little at her honesty, and pulled back so you could look at her. Your face inches apart.

“I love it when you stay inside me after. Like you don’t want to leave.” You didn’t mask the way your voice cracked. You didn’t hide any of the emotion racing through you at your own admission. She stared at you with large eyes, and tilted her head slightly. She brought her mouth closer.

“What else do you love?” She cupped your face gently with the hand she had been running down your back, and her eyes flicked nervous back and forth staring into yours. You wrapped your hand around her neck, and pressed your forehead to hers with a heavy sigh. Out of the corner of your right eye you saw a shadow through the steamy drivers side window. You straightened up.

“Spence?” There was confusion in her voice.

“Shhh.” Something fluttered. Your heart was pounding. You dragged two fingers across the glass, and peered out. A dark hooded figure bolted into the tree line the minute your eyes settled on it’s frame.

“FUCK!” You launched away from her, and into the passenger seat. Her hand ripped out of you, and her knuckles popped loudly from the motion. She cursed and clenched her hand.

“What the hell is wrong with you?!” She was looking at you like you were possessed, cradling her injured hand against her chest. Your eyes stayed glued to the smudged glass, as beads of water ran down the inside of the car. You were throwing on your clothes with haste, the anger in your chest cresting to levels you did not know the human body could contain without combusting. A steady stream of incoherent curse words squeezed between your gritted teeth as you jerked your t shirt over your head, and shoved your legs back into your jeans. Clearly frightened by both your hulk like mood swing, and frantic redressing, Melissa followed suit. Clothing herself as quickly as possible when you ripped the passenger door wide and ran out into the dark towards the trees.

“COME ON YOU BASTARD!” You stood staring into the black woods with clenched fists.

“Spencer!”

You turned slowly, and reluctantly back towards the vehicle. Melissa stood five feet behind you in the dark. The expression on her face was one you would never forget. A mix of outrage, disbelief, and terror.

“Did you see him??” Your eyes were wide with fury.

“Who?!”

“There was a man! Someone ran into the woods. Did you see him?!”

Melissa schooled her features. And took a careful step in your direction. There was no light save the moon, and the hot evening had licked the grass an emerald black. You looked back towards the trees. You made a move to turn, and she caught your shoulder. You jerked away.

“You’re not going in there!” She grabbed a fist full of your shirt.

“Get the fuck away from me!” You shoved her square in the chest as hard as you could. The motion sent her sprawling across the slick grass. You regretted it the moment it happened, but you were so furious a part of you just couldn’t care. You realized as you watched her get up on shaking legs that more than a little of this anger was directed towards her. She began slowly picking the grass from her palms. Her head down. Her voice low and dangerously clear.

“There was no one there Spencer. Just like there is no reason to whisper in the shower. Just like there is no reason to close the blinds on the second floor. You are a fucking. Paranoid. Mess.” The last three lines punctuated by the slapping of her hand against her now dew soaked pants. She locked eyes with you in the dark, and straightened her back. Laughter rolled through you with such force that your whole frame shook. She let out an exasperated sigh, and turned her face up to the stars.

“And why is that I wonder?! What could I possibly have to be worried about Melissa?” Yes. You were paranoid. But what was she? Complacent? Secure in the knowledge that she was sleeping with her sister, and nothing could possibly go wrong? It was absurd. The whole situation was absurd.

“I’m not doing this with you Spencer.” She turned on her heel to walk back to her Mercedes.

“Ohh right. This is where you draw the line in our activities?! Moonlit accusations in the wilderness?!” You spit the words at her back, and followed her. She whipped around, and brought her hand across your face so quickly you didn’t realize it happened until you were wondering why your head was suddenly facing the road. You turned your head back towards her slowly. Her jaw was clenched. Her nostrils flared. She was seething.

“You will not put your hands on me Spencer. You will not speak to me this way. You’re a psychopath. Whatever insane hooded ghosts plague your guilty conscience when we’re still knuckle deep in one another is your own problem.” By the time she finished she was standing against you, looking down slightly into your eyes.

“I may be a psychopath. But you’re so completely at home inside of me that you don’t even have the sense to panic.” Neither one of you moved or looked away until she turned completely and stormed back to the car without another look in your direction. The engine turned over with a roar. She popped the trunk. She threw your duffle bag in your direction, and flung your shoes out the window before whipping her car back onto the interstate.

You were grateful for the slight breeze, and the bright light from the clear sky. You were grateful for the late night hike in the open air, and the distance between the two of you. A few hours later you stood in your driveway on throbbing feet. There was light on in the barn, and you were glad again at the knowledge that she could not sleep. You took a shower to clear your head before unpacking. After, you unzipped the duffle bag on your bed, and Aria’s book was laying neatly on top of your clothes. You sighed with relief because you hadn’t remembered packing it, and tossed it on your pillow. Everything in it’s place, you settled down under the covers, and cracked the book. It was dog eared to a page farther than you had read the night before. The corner was folded on “Loves Strategems”. The first line caught your eye.

“All these maneuverings to avoid…”

You sat up, and held the book carefully as though the pages had been replaced with knives. Melissa’s face and voice in the cabin filling your head. You read on with apprehension.

“The touching of hands,

These shifts to keep the eyes employed

On objects more or less neutral

(As honor, for time being, commands)

Will hardly prevent their downfall.

Stronger medicines are needed.

Already they find

None of their strategems have succeeded,

Nor would have, no,

Not had their eyes been stricken blind,

Hands cut off at the elbow.”

Of course she was familiar with the poetry of Donald Justice. Of course she was fluent in his work. And of course this was the page she marked for you to find. You tossed it carelessly on the floor, and held your head in your hands. All the anger that carried you back home was gone, and you held a hand firmly over your mouth to keep from screaming. You rocked yourself upright in bed, trying to pull your fury back up around your shoulders. You couldn’t find the thread. You fell back against your pillow with a thud, and told yourself repeatedly that it was all for the best. That it was a long time coming. That it had to be done. You steeled your heart against the certainty that in the morning you would be dead to her. And the fever pitched wanting that radiated between you, would tremble still, like a bow string. You could learn to live with that again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First, from the bottom of my heart thank you for sticking with this story. I felt terrible for having to delay the update. This morning I woke up to find the story bookmarked, with over 400 views! It made my entire day. I couldn't wait to retreat to my laptop and post this next chapter. I truly hope it did not disappoint.  
> Second, I know that I haven't really described Spencer reciprocating. There is a reason for this. I want to use that to illustrate just how much control Melissa has over her, and when I do describe it I hope it shows those tables turning. Kind of leveling out the playing field after Spencer gets the upper hand and takes control. That chapter is forthcoming.  
> Lastly, any feedback you have would be welcomed. I think this next chapter will start off with a kind of montage. Melissa marrying Ian, getting pregnant, losing the baby. Then segue into an original scenario I've been tossing around for a while.  
> Next Chapter - Don't Explain


	6. Don't Explain

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Over 550 views. Wow. You are all amazing. I hardly know what to say. I can't thank you enough. Speaking of which, I would like to send a special acknowledgement to BasketballRunner32 who acted as my beta for this chapter. I truly believe this would have been my weakest update if not for her. I feel much more confident with the direction I'm taking. As always, I hope this update does not disappoint.

You didn’t speak of that night. For weeks, you made it a point to avoid occupying the same room at all costs. If there was a family dinner either she had work, or you had to study. You told yourself it was easier this way, but the truth was it couldn’t be simplified. You recited that poem aloud to yourself in the dark of your bedroom for months. You still recite it. If you were being really honest with yourself you would admit that the poem comforts you because it talks about the inevitability of love. That’s how you look at it. Like it couldn’t have been stopped, or slowed, or helped, or avoided. You loved her. You hated her. And it broke your heart.

You gave yourself fully in the quest to catch -A. But why? Was it because you feared that at any moment -A would begin blackmailing you with a secret great enough to destroy the legacy your family had worked so hard to secure? Or was it to be with her again? Just once more. Without fear of -A making you whisper. Stealing your afterglow and coating it in foreboding.

Is that why you pushed her to meet Ian for coffee? You were alone in the kitchen (which was unprecedented) bustling about before school. The look on her face when you suggested she meet him. She couldn’t believe you were breaking the unspoken rule. Which was of course not to speak. She couldn’t believe what you were suggesting.

“Spencer…”

The sound of your name on her tongue made your knees weak. And when she turned and met your gaze you nearly reached for her. It felt like you hadn’t seen her in years. You wanted so desperately to touch her.

“Why the sudden interest in my love life?” Her eyes were full of taunting. And you were an idiot for thinking she wouldn’t see right through you. You rambled off something about running into him. How much he seemed to miss her, and the way he talked about her. The whole sorry show she wore a mocking smile, and feigned belief in your pathetic attempt to cover your tracks. It would have been more dignified to stand on the dining room table and scream “Anything to save us from ourselves!” Stronger medicines were needed after all. She straightened with a lightness in her eyes and countenance that she hadn’t held in months. Some self satisfied gleam settled into those big brown eyes as she walked up, and fixed a strand of hair that was falling out of your ponytail.

“I’ll think about it.”

She did think about it. She married the asshole. She had sex with him in your barn, and conceived a child. You started seeing Toby.

Was Ian -A? No. You know that now. Did you know it then? Probably. But it didn’t matter. He had to be -A. He had to be dangerous. And she just had to pick you didn’t she?

But she didn’t pick you.

She loved him. It was crystal clear. From the moment she stepped into your living room with Ian on her arm you could see it. All the old familiar feelings. Alive and well. A flickering spark just waiting for a breeze. Sometimes in the dark of your bedroom, you would stare out your window at the bright windows of the barn. And if you listened closely you would swear you could hear that girlish giggle that escaped her throat that night with Ian on the stairs. You gave them a second chance. They started a family. And you took that from her. Out of desperation? Sure. Driven to madness from the persistent threats? Why not. But like all things when it came to Melissa. You did it out of jealousy. In your heart you know that. She knows it too. The ring. Pawning her wedding ring. You still don’t have words for that betrayal.

It was terrible when he died. A part of her went with him. Her hopes, her dreams. The baby. She told you she was having a girl.

“Taylor.”

Your niece’s name was Taylor. You sat beside her on the couch. Pregnant, widowed, broken, and alone. You were so happy she was talking to you again. You felt guilty that your heart felt so light at the sound of her voice. She rubbed slow circles over the bubble of her belly. In a way it was a funny sight. She was so rail thin everywhere else.

Her face was so worn.

“Melissa.” She tilted her face up to meet yours, and turned on the couch. Her palms stilled on her stomach.

“If she needs anything. If you do…” Your voice betrayed you. You cleared your throat, and laid your hand on top of hers. She smiled the half smile that used to belong to you, as her eyes brightened. She moved her hands out from under yours. You pulled your hand away thinking she was going to pull away from you. She didn’t. She pulled your hand back, over her stomach, and stroked the skin on the back of your hand with her thumb. She apologized to you. For picking Ian over you. It was the most beautiful thing you had ever heard. You took her in your arms and you held her for the first time in months. Her hushed sobs and broken breath brushed along your neck. You ran your fingers through her hair, and down her back. She pulled back and looked up at you. Red faced, her cheeks slick with tears. You tried to dry them with your fingertips, but there were too many. It was the first time you had seen her cry.

“I should have protected you.” You placed your hand over her mouth, begging her not to continue. It was too much. She said your name. Her eyes flicked down to your lips. You both needed it so much. You leaned forward, and pressed your lips to her forehead. This attraction was so far beyond physical, but every cell in your body screamed for her. You tilted her chin up, and leaned in to close the space between you. To fill the emptiness inside of her once more. Because she asked you without words. Because you didn’t exist without her.

Ian’s cell phone started ringing. -A had planted it in your bag. Melissa blinked, and was on her feet before you had the chance to open your eyes fully. She was furious in record time, accusing you of texting her from his phone. Giving her false hope. It wasn’t true, but she couldn’t hear anything beyond her own booming voice and the pounding of her pulse in her ears.

“I WILL NEVER FORGIVE YOU FOR THIS.” She smashed the phone against the wall, and stormed up the stairs while you were still trying to swallow back the urge to drown in her again.

Never. You believed her.

And what of Toby in all this chaos? He was a wonderful man. Kind and gentle. You loved him because he was everything you were not. You loved him because it was safe, and because he loved you back unabashedly without requirement or condition. Because he said those words.

“I love you Spence.” You didn’t know how much you needed to hear those words until he said them.

But he would never have all of you. All the stolen wedding rings pawned for weathered pickup trucks in the world wouldn’t change the hold Melissa had on you. Is that why you stole it? Were you trying to buy back your heart? It didn’t work. Whatever piece of it Melissa took when she zipped the back of that Badgley Mischka was hers forever. Sometimes, when you hadn’t seen her for a while the whole affair seemed like a fever dream. But the distance couldn’t last forever. You were family after all.

The night she drove you outside of Rosewood she admitted that she knew it wasn’t you that had sent the texts from Ian’s phone. It should have felt like progress. But there was so much scorched earth between the two of you now. She stood you up the night before and drove off with Garrett Reynolds. It hurt you more than it should have. She told you he was kind to her. That he and Ian had been close. The fact that she sought comfort from him, that she confided in anyone at all made your blood boil. You swallowed your resentment because you had no claim to her. More to the point you had Toby. You didn’t need her anymore. You didn’t need her. If you repeated that long enough in front of the mirror, you almost believed it. Melissa changed the subject, and talked about the night that Alison died. You didn’t suspect Melissa of -A Team involvement yet. But the seeds were taking root.

 

She lost the baby.

 

The first time the wall fell down was at dinner.

The controversy surrounding Toby’s suspected involvement in Alison’s murder had quieted. And your parents felt that if your relationship was publicized in the right way people may stop whispering. They invited Toby to family dinner at the club one friday. You were elated that they were acknowledging you. That they were making an attempt to embrace Toby. Even if it was slightly rooted in maintaining their own image.

They also invited Melissa.

She looked radiant. She wore a little black Armani dress. Sleeveless, but the straps cut down in deep V, and mimicked suit lapels. It stopped mid thigh. Her hair was down in soft brown waves. This was her reintroduction into the wild after the miscarriage. Two birds one stone. Your parents were nothing if not efficient. She was the last one to the table. Your mother and father were sitting at opposite ends. Toby was across from you. She stopped a few feet from where you were seated. It was the first and only time you wore the white Badgley Mischka. Your father smiled, and stood waving her over. Her eyes narrowed at you almost imperceptibly. Your father and mother stood to embrace her. She fixed her smile ear to ear, and took Toby’s hand. His eyes faltered on her chest only for a moment. You couldn’t blame him. She came around the table and embraced you. She kissed your cheek.

“That dress looks beautiful on you Spencer.” Her voice held something like a challenge, as she pulled out the seat beside you. You didn’t return the compliment because it wasn’t one. Not really. And because the two of you had not exchanged so much as a passing glance since the conversation in the car about Garrett. The kiss on your cheek felt like a twist of the knife. Her lips hadn’t touched your skin since...

“See. I told you. The dress looks amazing. She almost didn’t wear that one.” Toby grinned widely. His abrupt and triumphant interjection pulled you from your memories. You took a fortifying sip of ice water, and smiled at him.

“Melissa, didn’t you have a dress just like that one?” Your mother asked as the waiter poured chardonnay.

Melissa was amused by the bait. She batted it around in her brain for a moment. Taking a slow sip of her wine, she pretended to appraise you once more. The miscarriage had been understandably horrific for her. She rarely left the barn. She wouldn’t speak to anyone. She started drinking again. The wine bottles in the recycling bin had tripled, and most nights you could hear her stumbling across the patio on her way back to the barn. Melissa’s hand raised and she trailed her fingers around the beading at your neckline.

“A few years ago Badgley Mischka released a dress just like that one for their Spring line.” She pursed her lips. She laughed a little, and turned back to your mother. “You know I believe I did.” You blushed deeply, and clenched your jaw. She was waiting for a snappy retort. She did love to tease. The way her eyes lingered on you after was a taunt. She was itching for a fight. She drained the rest of her wine, and waived her glass at the waiter. You picked up your menu. She laid her napkin gingerly in her lap.  

The conversation flowed between Melissa’s office conquests, and Toby’s carpentry ambitions. Your father asked if he had considered Architecture. He admitted that he was waiting to see where you got accepted. It was sweet. Melissa smiled, and leaned forward slightly.

“Wouldn’t want to lose her to some slick law student?” She tilted her head.

“Shut up Melissa.” You had been silent waiting for the food to arrive. You wanted this evening to be over. You needed distance. She was just waiting for a crack in your polished veneer.

“No Spence it’s ok. She’s right.” He was still grinning. He hadn’t stopped smiling since you sat down. He sat straighter and nodded. “Yes. That is exactly what I’m afraid of.” You should have warned him about her. He was playing into her hand.

There must be a god because the waiter arrived with dinner. The evening was so strenuous you could barely look at your crab cakes. You took small, miserable bites.

“Well who could blame you? Spencer is a beautiful young woman.” Your mother knew something was wrong. She could feel it. She laid a hand on Toby’s arm, and smiled warmly.

Melissa stayed fixed on Toby.

“She is.” Her hand slipped down off the table, and came to rest on your right knee. Your body froze as you stared at her from the corner of your eyes. She was making small talk with your father. Nibbling at her dinner every now and then. You felt the heat rise in your chest when her fingers stroked the inside of your knee. You wanted to push her away, but you didn’t. A few more bites, and her hand moved up the inside of your thigh. Her fingertips drawing familiar shapes against your burning flesh. You dropped your head. Your breathing was becoming shallow. Your head was swimming. Equal parts arousal, and anger.

“Spence you ok?” Toby’s large soft eyes searching for yours.

Melissa turned and looked at you now. Her tone completely neutral.

“You do look a bit flushed.” She dragged the nail of her middle finger up the front of your lace underwear. You stood abruptly to cover the shiver that ran through you.

“I don’t feel well.” You turned and bolted for the bathroom without a single look back at the table. You stormed into the dimly lit restroom and fell against the sink. You gripped the granite, and grit your teeth. Shaking with fury. A moment later you heard the lock catch, and Melissa was standing behind you in the large gilded mirror. You locked eyes with her.

“What the fuck was that?” You growled at her reflection. You were afraid of what you might do if you let go of the sink. She looked like she was going to speak. She averted her gaze. She licked her lips. No taunting. No witty retort. Just a nervous twitch around the mouth that suggested she might not have a reason for her behaviour or for following you. She found your eyes again, and stepped up against your back. As soon as her hands came to rest on your waist you whirled around, and lifted her up on the counter. Adrenaline and years of field hockey conditioning making a paper doll of her. Your fist wrapped her soft hair. You forced her to look into your eyes.

“Was it fun for you?”

Her eyes went wide. She stilled completely. She didn’t fight you. But she wouldn’t speak.

“Say something!” You shook her slightly, tightening your hold on her hair. She swallowed harshly and shook her head just once. All the signs were there. As if it had been yesterday. You hated that you could see it so clearly on her. That for all your window dressing the fire you had for her still burned just as brightly. Nothing had changed. You released her hair with a jerk, and attacked her neck with your mouth. She cried out, and wrapped her legs around you. Tangling her hands in your hair, pulling you closer. Your mouth never faltered, as you blazed a burning trail of hot, rushed kisses down her chest. She pulled you up to her mouth, and looked into your eyes. There was a softness there you hadn’t seen since that weekend at the lakehouse. You remembered the way she pushed her sunglasses on the top of her head. The edges of her illuminated by the sun gleaming off her Mercedes. Your heart still jumped when you thought about the single step she took in your direction. The way she turned on the steps, and stole one more glance at you before ducking inside the cabin behind your mother. The memory infuriated you for reasons you could barely register. She leaned in to kiss you, and you wrapped one hand around her shoulder, keeping her pushed back. You ripped her underwear off with the other, and pushed two fingers roughly inside of her. She was as wet as you were. She gasped your name, and tried to lean back up. You kept her at arms length. You could not bring yourself to kiss her. She relented, and wrapped a hand around your bicep. Her short nails making moons in your skin. She planted a hand behind herself for balance as she rocked against your thrusts. Frantic breathing but no words. She stared into your eyes, breaking contact only to close her eyes against the next moan she was attempting to stifle. Touching her had never brought you this close before. You felt like you might faint at any moment. But you kept a grip on her shoulder. You could already feel her muscles clenching against you. You brought her quickly to the edge. When she came you released her arm, and she tucked her face in your neck as your thumb circled her. You stood with your chin over her shaking shoulder face to face with your own reflection, as the spasms slowed and finally ended. Staring into your own eyes you could almost hear yourself mocking “You don’t need her anymore…”All the promises you made to yourself. To Toby. Had you known all along that they were lies? You had never loathed anything or anyone as genuinely as you did yourself in those few painful seconds. You withdrew from her. She tried to hold onto you, but you shook her off. You washed your hands silently in the sink.

“Spencer.” Her voice trembled. You steeled your heart against it, but the sound ripped through you nonetheless. You dried your hands and turned to leave, but she caught the top of the dress in her hands and pulled you back against the counter. You raised your eyes to hers. She looked so small. A panting, scared, disheveled mess.

“Let me go.” Your voice was soft but firm.

“Come to the barn tonight.” It was a rushed, frantic plea. You made no attempt to mask your shock.

“Melissa…” You shook your head sadly, and tried to loosen her grip on your clothes.

“Come to me tonight.” She pulled your dress desperately.

The tears pooled in your eyes, but you would not let yourself break down. You put your hands gently over hers.

“Let go.”

Her hands released you. You stood in the mirror a moment longer, fixing your dress, and hair. You made it to the door before she whispered your name again. She was standing behind you with one hand bracing the wall. She was silently begging you when the door settled back against the frame.

Toby and your family were mingling with guests when you arrived back at the table. He was terribly concerned, but you assured everyone you were fine.

“Melissa said she was going to check on you where is she?” Your mother placed a gentle hand on your back.

“She was right behind me.”

A moment later Melissa walked gracefully back to the table. All her airs wrapped around her lithe form. She reached down to the table, and picked up her glass, before making her way to the large window on the other side. Staring out at the gardens black with night like some kind of grecian statue. You looked back several times, as your parents toured you around the room. Greeting acquaintances, introducing Toby. Once or twice you caught her eye in the darkened window. You quickly looked away.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know we covered a lot of ground in this Chapter. It was extremely difficult summarizing such huge chunks of time. But as I said before, I like to use the show's story line as a guide only and create my own world inside of that. So I knew there were very important show moments I had to incorporate while somehow remaining true to the versions of Spencer and Melissa I was creating. I hope Spencer's stronger side is believable. I hope Melissa's eroding resolve and ever increasing loneliness doesn't feel forced, or rushed. I think you're really going to like the next chapter. Its completely AU, and I'm very excited to write it. Remember comments are not only welcomed they are relished. Next Chapter: You Go to My Head.


	7. You Go to My Head

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I really can't thank you guys enough. Nearly 700 views. 20 comments. You have all been so wonderfully encouraging and understanding. Special thanks to my lovely Beta BasketballRunner32 for her input. And for putting up with my crazy. This chapter is completely AU. I hope you like it.

The wind blew up over the grass like a warm breath, and swirled around your ankles. Every few seconds a gust would lick it’s way up your legs and toss the hem of your dress around your thighs. You weren’t sure how long you had been standing in front of the barn. But you stopped fifteen steps from the door, which you could see was just slightly ajar. A soft warm glow pushed itself between the frame, and the light rested on your toes. It seemed something more than a simple invitation. Like she knew you couldn’t stay away. She was calling your bluff.

A small voice you thought had died whispered somewhere in the chambers of your heart. “Maybe that’s not what she meant at all.”

The evening winded down quickly after your disappearing act. You weren’t sure when Melissa made her exit. Only that she hadn’t said goodbye to your parents. One moment she was still as a statue one the far side of the room. The next she was gone. The only evidence of her presence was an emptied wine flute on her folded napkin. The edges berry stained by her preferred shade of Nars Lipstick. Captiva.

Did she fiddle with the lighting to make her room just the right level of inviting? Had she gone home early to clean the barn for company? Make her bed? Take a shower? Was she wearing the same dress? Was she standing just on the other side of that door? Did she open and close it twenty times before deciding on the appropriate distance from the frame? Was she pacing inside? Was she playing out both sides of an argument that hadn’t happened yet? Maybe she was laughing. Watching you through a chink in the curtains as you stood debating. Fighting a battle with yourself that was already lost.

The curtains.

You took a few steps into the grass and walked around the side of the barn, examining the windows. All the curtains were closed. The gesture warmed your heart and made you smile in spite of yourself. And if she whispers without you asking? What does that mean? You tried to crush the hope that curled it’s way around your brain, but it blossomed against your better judgement.

“This will not do,” you whispered to yourself in the dark beside the hedges. You could not stand outside her domain exposed like this. -A had not given the slightest inkling that they had collected any proof of the two of you together in the car the night you ripped yourself away from her and ran screaming into the dark. The only hint -A might have seen something was the sudden ringing of Ian’s phone when you moved in to kiss Melissa that night on the couch. That was odd wasn’t it? That the guillotine had not fallen. Then again when you’re sitting on Aces you don’t rush the hand. You wait for the river, and let your opponent drown themselves with their own greed.

This was greedy wasn’t it? You had Toby. You were loved. What more could you want? The memory of Melissa pressing a long slow kiss into the hollow of your hip on the bathroom floor flooded your mind. You fell with a heavy sigh against the side of the barn, swimming in shadow. Indulging in the muscle memory for longer than you had since the whole thing ended.

“But it isn’t over.” That voice again.

Headlights from a passing car flew over your eyes and frightened you so deeply that you dropped down amongst the Azaleas. This was ridiculous. You couldn’t hide in the hedges reliving the feeling of her lips whispering against your skin. Out in the open just waiting for -A to walk right up to you, and shine a light on all your secrets. You were going into the barn, or you were making the trek upstairs to your room. Those were your only options. To be fair, the decision had been made the moment you kissed Toby goodnight in your driveway.

Toby.

He deserved so much better than you.

A decent person would tell him so, an honest person. But you were neither of those things.  

You straightened the hem of your dress and stood up. Brushing the pollen from your backside. You took a few steps away from the barn before you walked back across the grass to the cobblestone walkway. You didn’t want her to see your shadow passing back and forth beyond her curtains. But a part of you suspected she already knew you were there. The light from the door settled back on your toes. You wiggled them slightly in the light. And then it narrowed. And then it disappeared. You didn’t look up. You heard the door settle back against the frame as you stood there like a ghost in your white dress. Alone in the dark. The light in her entryway flipped off when you closed the distance between yourself and the door.

Was the game over? Was she revoking your invitation? Or had she done all of this out of hope? You wouldn’t know unless you went inside. And something told you that even after you talked to her, you still wouldn’t know. Couldn’t be sure. You let your forehead fall gently against the door, and released a heavy sigh. You watched your right hand of it’s own volition reach up from your side and wrap around the handle. Your wrist twisted, and the breath you were holding seemed to be sucked out of your lungs by the rushed inhale of the barn as you stepped across the threshold.

She wasn’t startled by your entrance. She was sitting up against her headboard, her hands frozen on the keys of the laptop resting on her thighs. Her hair was up, her face was washed. The light from the screen bounced off the lenses of the glasses that slid down the bridge of her nose so you couldn’t read her eyes. She was wearing a pair of black running shorts, and a white tank top. She wasn’t wearing a bra. She closed the lid of her laptop slowly, and laid it on her nightstand. You closed the door and locked it, but you didn’t move into the room. You were nervous, and waiting for something. Was it permission? Old habits...

Melissa could feel your hesitation. She seemed to be anchored by it herself. She uncrossed her ankles, and swung her legs softly onto the floor. She stood up slowly, cautiously. Like she didn’t want to frighten you. Or maybe because the moment was truly that delicate, and new. An orchid. Requiring just the right amount of light, and humidity to open it’s bloom. It was the first time you were meeting as equals. She took a step, and caught herself. Fumbling to remove her glasses, and folded them in her palms with a frustration that seemed embarrassed. She tossed them back on the lid of laptop, and ran her hand over her smoothed back ponytail. Fidgeting. It was hope that left the door ajar. She took another step away from the bed to say with her actions that she was not assuming.

You took a step forward, and clasped your hands in front of you to hide their shaking. It was silent for several very uncomfortable minutes.

“Would you like to have a seat?” Her long hand gestured to the quaint living room that opened to your right. A short straight lined modern sofa sat along the window. A grey coffee like color with smart black pillows spaced evenly along it’s fold. It rested on a shaggy white rug, along with a perfectly square glass coffee table. On the far side of the table was a single white chair disrupted slightly by a shock of red from the afghan draped over the arm. The arrangement would feel sterile if not for that, and the low soft lighting of the steel lamp that curled above it’s back. You took a step over towards the couch for a better view of the photographs that adorned the walls in thick black frames. You had forgotten that she used to take pictures. You wondered if she still did. The floor creaked under her steps, and broke you from your trance. You fixed her in a startled gaze. It was rude to stand there, not speaking. You were overwhelmed by the changes she had made to the barn. It looked so glamorous filled with her little touches.

“No. Thank you I’m fine.” You looked down at your shaking hands, and laughed a little at yourself. She stood with one foot in front of the other, playing with the hem of her tank top. She smiled and huffed at her own nervousness.

“I’m sorry.” The words were so soft you barely heard them. Whispering. You let out a shaky breath at the sound, and the knowledge that you would have her again tonight. Another step towards her. You were at the edge of her living room. She was a few feet from her low lying platform bed. It was dressed with a soft white down filled comforter. Would it smell like her? Or would traces of Ian still be wrapped around the threads of her sheets? Your stomach churned at the thought, and you went back on the defensive.  

“Why did you do it?” You crossed your arms in an attempt to look challenging, but at best you looked chilled. At worst, frightened. Which you were, only this time it wasn’t justified paranoia that tied your insides in knots. You mentally chastised yourself for your naivety. You should have been frightened by your feelings for her all along. But until that evening you had felt like a passenger in all of this chaos. It wasn’t until you stared into your own eyes as she trembled around your hand that you realized you were both equally to blame. You pursued her. You were relentless. She was older, but that was only an excuse you used so you could fall asleep at night.

She took another step towards you. She was close. You could almost reach her if you lifted your arm. Her head tilted, and she lifted her chin. She was better at intimidation than you were.

“Why did you wear the dress?”

The dress. Not that dress. Or my dress. It made your eyes widen. You ran a hand through your hair and dropped your arms to your sides. You shrugged.

“To make you jealous.” They were childish words. But they were the truth. You owed each other that much.

She nodded to herself and smiled at you. A good natured smile that touched her eyes.

“I know.” She laughed. Real, and full bodied. She shook her head, and returned your shrug. “It worked.”

The laughter died. Smothered by smoke from the flames that curled between you. Old words. Whispered like incantations. They served their purpose and called upon remembered passion to push you both to close the distance you were stubbornly attempting to enforce. Her knees knocked against your knees. You were the same height now. When did that happen? Your fingers tangled around the hem of her top. Her fingers fondled the beading around your neck for the second time that night. It was all so intimate. So familiar.

“I know why you wouldn’t kiss me.” Spoken like a statement of fact, but the question it implied was ‘Do you?’ You did not. She pushed your hair back behind your shoulders. Her lips brushed against your lips.

“It would have felt so much like defeat.” Her soft breath against your waiting mouth caused your lips to twitch. She used defeat, but she meant surrender. The terms were mutually exclusive in your family. She was right.

“You’re going to kiss me now Spencer.” Her voice deepened. You weren’t sure if it was a command or a warning.

“Yes.” A single nod before you fixed your mouth to hers hungrily. Your arms wrapping tightly around her waist. Her hands pulled your face closer still. She tilted your head slightly, and you opened your mouth for her. She sighed deeply. You swallowed her breath as she filled your mouth with her tongue, and you both accepted that anything short of that moment would never be enough. Not with Toby, or Wren, or anyone else for that matter. It did feel like surrender. But for once in your life, you didn’t mind losing. She was losing too. She clawed at the dress, at your hair, the skin of your neck, the tops of your thighs. She was getting louder. The sounds she made were driving you crazy. Melissa had never been more responsive. The thought to silence her didn’t even cross your mind. You were ready to take her on the floor if you didn’t reach the bed soon. You reached down and wrapped your hands around the backs of her thighs, lifting her up off the floor. She giggled, and wrapped her legs around you. You kissed her throat at the sound, and she pressed her palm against the back of your head. She turned her head, and you sucked on the skin below her ear. She growled your name, and dug her nails into your shoulders. Your shins hit the edge of the platform bed, and you toppled forward with her laughing. You fumbled dragging yourselves up the length of the bed. It was the most carefree happiness you’d ever known. It was as if you had just been reunited with your best friend after a long trip. Except for the fact that you were not friends. Not even remotely. And you had slept within a hundred feet of each other the whole time. She wrestled with the zipper of the dress, tracing your earlobe with her teeth. You laughed throaty, and deep.

“You’re going to rip it!” You didn’t care, your hands were already sliding up over the smooth skin of her abdomen. But her frustration warranted teasing. She cursed, and kissed around the side of your neck. Pulling her body from beneath you, until her weight rested on your side. Her hands pressed down on your shoulders when you tried to roll over. You looked up from the bed searching for her face. The tops of her legs settled around and between the backs of yours. She reached down and cradled the side of your face. Her kiss was slow, and seductive. You moaned when she pulled away. She settled on your side, and you stilled when you heard the top of the zipper separate only an inch. She flipped your hair up over your face. Her tongue flicked over the newly exposed patch of skin at the base of your neck. Your body sank down into the mattress. You would have let her do anything to you. Slowly she pulled the zipper open, kissing, and licking down the notches of your spine. Her fingers tracing the tense muscles of your back until she reached the soft skin just above your underwear. She laid her cheek against the dip of your lower back, and ran her hands slowly up the length of you. Your whole body shuddered. You felt her rise up, her knees on both sides of you.

“Turn around.”

You would be lying if you said you didn’t love it when she told you what to do. You didn’t take direction from anyone else in your life but -A. This was the only time it felt safe to let someone else lead. She lifted up to give you room. You rolled over on your back, and she settled back down on your legs. You could feel the slick heat of her through her shorts as she took your hands, and placed them on her thighs. You tried to slide your hands up the bottom of her shirt. She stilled them, and slid them back down. Her eyes were soft and heavy, lips swollen from the force of your kisses. Her chest labored under her own heaving breaths.

“Your hair.” You didn’t have to say anything else. She reached back, and pulled out her ponytail. Her hair fell down around her face, unbrushed, curling at the tips from her shower. She leaned down to kiss you, sweeping her hair over to one side. Her hands wrapped around the top of the dress, pulling it down over your shoulders exposing your collarbone. She was completely transfixed by the task at hand. Swept up in the act, the moment. She kissed down your neck, nipping, and sucking on the newly bare expanse of skin and bone. You were overcome.

“Melissa.” You felt her smile against your skin. She moved back up the side of your neck.

“What?” She husked directly into your ear. Your body trembled from the pleasure of it. You felt embarrassed suddenly. You turned your head away from her. She turned your face back to hers with gentle fingers on your chin. Her eyes filled with concern.

“Spence?” She kissed your lips lightly. You took her face in your hands, and looked openly into her eyes.

“You’re beautiful.” It was the kind of timid whispered proclamation only lovers make. When even the most mundane moments hold a revelation. And this moment was anything but. She seemed to consider your words, rolling them over in her mind. Committing it to memory before cupping the side of your face in her hand. Rubbing the skin of your cheek with the pad of her thumb. She kissed you long and hard until she felt your body relax again. She leaned back up, and rolled the top of the dress down under your breasts. You settled your hands back on her thighs, and squeezed. A signal to her that you were ready for her to continue. She held your forearms in her hands, pinned down against the bed as she kissed the top of your breasts. Your back arched off the bed as she closed her mouth over your nipple. Your whole body began to shake. You couldn’t control it. Her mouth never left your skin as she rolled the dress down to your waist. The collar of it bunched in her hands, tangled around your skinny wrists. She kissed the soft skin beneath your breasts, and left teasing kisses on each newly exposed rib. Your body fought for it and against it. Moving up against her, and off to the side when her mouth discovered a particularly sensitive inch on your left side. When she ran her tongue just above the hem of your underwear your hips raised to meet her. She looked up at you, wearing her half smile. Your smile.

“Now.” You husked as your hips hovered up off the mattress. You weren’t sure how you would keep from coming apart if she didn’t touch you soon.  You weren’t sure how you would keep from coming apart once she did. Her smile slid away, and she moved further down. Her eyes were nearly black from wanting as she stared up at you, tightening the hold she had on the dress that confined you. She dragged her tongue down the inside of your thigh. You bolted upright, and thrashed your arms until she released the bunched fabric she was using to hold you. You pulled her up by her hair, and kissed her roughly. You caught her lower lip in your teeth and pulled her down on top of you, kicking the dress down off your legs as far as you could manage. She tried to help you free your legs, but you grabbed her hand and held it firmly over your throbbing core. She whimpered in your mouth, and shoved your underwear down on your hips as far as she could reach without breaking the kiss. She tore her mouth from yours and slid two fingers inside of you with deliberate and agonizing slowness. Fascinated by the way your body raised to meet her touch, and the way your eyes widened and bore into hers while she entered you. Your hips raised to meet her thrusts, but she would not increase the pressure. She was enjoying herself too much. And in truth it was probably retaliation for leaving her a wanton quivering mess in the bathroom. Your body was screaming. You were screaming. You wrapped your hand around her wrist and pushed her harshly inside of you. She relented and gave you what you wanted, curling her fingers as she went. Your legs started to shake. She kissed down the length of you. Kicking the dress off your legs with her foot, and took the heart of you into her mouth. Release wracked your body, and left you in white hot ruins. Your eyes clenched shut, your mouth agape. You were paralyzed by the force of it. She crawled back up the length of you and covered your trembling body with her own. You started crying under the weight of her. Crying because it was too much. The fight in the woods. Ian's death. Her miscarriage. The time you spent apart. Toby, dinner, the bathroom, this. Always this. You cried because you couldn't kill what you felt for her. She kissed your lips softly and dried your tears. You apologized, and wrapped your arms around her back. She whispered against your neck that she didn’t mind. That you could let it out.

She nuzzled the side of your neck, and stroked your hair.

“Why did you do it?” It was the third time that night you used those words. She raised up on her elbow, and arched a brow. She was under the impression this was still about dinner.

“Ian.”

Her hand stilled in your hair. She recoiled a bit, and wrapped around the side of you. She kissed your shoulder, and held you tighter.

“Because I loved him. And it felt like the right thing to do.” She turned your face to towards hers. Your breathing began to level. You needed to hear her say it. It wasn’t as devastating as you thought it would be. For you. The heartache was written all over her. She did love him. They had history. Years together. A happy shared youth. That was beautiful wasn’t it? That she had something real, even if only for a little while. That she was loved by someone who could love her the way she deserved. You knew what that felt like.

“Why are you with Toby?” She leaned back up on her elbow, and traced the panes of your face with the tips of her fingers.

“I love him, and it feels safe.” She narrowed her eyes at your choice of words. Considering them momentarily, as she traced the edges of your lips. She nodded, and captured your lips in a slow kiss taking her time with your mouth. She broke away first. You released a shaky breath, and you touched the side of her face. She was thinking about something, but she wasn’t speaking. You rolled her over, and placed your leg between her legs. Pressing your thigh against her. She inhaled deeply, and closed her eyes. You kissed along the line of her jaw, and the edges of her ear.

“Have you slept with him?”

You stilled. You raised your head to meet her eyes. A fire burned there. You recognized it in yourself.

“Does it matter?” You hadn’t slept with him, but that was beside the point. She had no right to ask you that. You didn’t belong to her. You didn’t owe her chastity. The two of you shared moments not a relationship. Not even an agreement. This was a moment. And It was everything to you but it wasn’t a promise. You were not going to ruin borrowed time by arguing with her.

“No. I suppose it doesn’t.” She wrapped your hair back around your ear, and pulled you down to kiss her again. The fire in her eyes became coals in her mouth. You could feel them burning in her kiss. You reached down and cupped her in your palm. You sighed into her mouth. You could feel how close she was through her clothes. You reached down, and pulled her tank over her head. Her skin broke out in goosebumps when you dragged your blunt nails down her sides and up around the edges of her breasts. She began to push herself down against your thigh. You trailed your kisses down her neck. Licking and nipping at the skin of her breasts. She wound her hands in your hair, and pushed herself harder against you. You placed your hands on her hips. She whimpered. She whispered your name. You brushed over the skin on her side with your tongue. You didn’t need to see her face to feel her smile. You could feel the faintest ripples in her skin under your tongue. Stretch marks that hadn’t been there before the baby. Scars on her perfect skin to match the scars on her heart. You wanted to kiss them, but she would hate you for it. You were careful not to linger. Your fingertips teased her nipples with one hand while the other peeled down the waistband of her running shorts. She leaned up slightly, watching as you placed a long slow kiss to her hip. You felt her body tense, but she didn’t tell you to stop this time. You pressed on. Removing her shorts and underwear in one motion. You knelt between her parted legs. She was already gripping the sheets. Black eyes locked on yours. You ran your hands slowly down her thighs. She shuddered. You leaned down and began kissing the inside of her leg. You started at the knee, and worked your way down slowly. Her body locked. You couldn’t see her face from your position. You moved down and sucked on the skin at the top of her thigh.

“Don’t.” Her voice was faint and weak as her hand reached to touch your cheek. You lifted your eyes to hers. She was raised up off the bed. She looked frightened. Your heart sank, you pressed your face against her thigh and shut your eyes against the pain. You weren’t sure why it hurt so much. You were almost positive it had nothing to do with you. She’d said so once.

“Please.” She reached for your hand, and pulled you back up the length of her. She looked so vulnerable.

“Ok. It’s ok.” You kissed her with everything you had, and she seemed to lighten from it. You took your time calming her. Kissing the sensitive skin under her ear until her breathing picked up again. She brought the hand you were using to stroke her thigh up to her lips. She kissed the tips of your fingers. You let her guide the hand back down her torso. Your eyes fluttered shut when you entered her.

“Look at me.”

You locked eyes with her. She wanted you present. She wanted to feel what you felt. She wanted you to know what she was feeling. She inhaled sharply when you twisted inside of her. She wrapped her hand around your neck.

“Sit up.” It was a testament to her fortitude that she was still making demands. You sat up, and she settled back down on your lap, her knees bowed. You brought your other hand up around her back. She came down hard against your palm, crying out. You kissed along her chest, but she pulled your face up to hers.

“Stay with me.” It was a desperate, weighted request. She rolled her hips into you. You felt like you might cry again. It was too much. It was always intense, but never like this.

“I’m with you.” You increased the force of your thrusts. Your name was a broken plea that died in her throat as she wrapped her arms around your neck. Every fiber of her clinging to you as she drowned wide eyed in her release. She wrapped her legs around you when she finished. You sat there for ages. Holding her. Kissing her shoulder, her neck, her mouth. Anything you could touch. It wasn’t enough.

You laid down together after. Legs entwined. Hands roaming over each other. You talked for a while. About work and school. Applying to colleges. About her drinking. You asked her to stop. She said she would. To touch was to start again. To finish was to begin again. The birds were singing to greet the sun when you fell asleep in her arms.

You slept most of the day. When you awoke the long lonely expanse of cold sheets were all that met your reaching arms. You sat up, clutching her sheet to your chest. You ran a sobering hand over your face. It was probably best that she had already gone. You planted your feet on the floor, and dropped back down under the sheet when the door opened.

“Sorry. It’s just me.” She kicked the door with her foot. Two cups of black coffee in her hands. You held your hand over your heart, willing your pulse to slow. You wrapped the sheet around your torso, and sat up against the headboard. She handed a mug to you, and walked over to the dresser at the foot of the bed. She leaned against it, and drank her coffee. She looked everywhere but at you. Distance.

“Thanks for the coffee.” Everything was always so much harder afterwards. Every word felt forced, and perilous.

She smiled at you, and nodded.

“Did you go for a run?” She was wearing a black jogging jacket and matching pants. Her hair was up. Her cheeks were flushed. Though that could have been discomfort.

“I did. I needed to-”

“Clear your head?” You smiled back, an honest understanding smile.

“Yeah. Something like that.” She placed her emptied mug on the dresser behind her, and clasped her hands on the edge.

“What time is it?” You set the mug on her nightstand, and stood wrapping the sheet tighter. She dragged her finger across her phone.

“Just after one.”

Your eyes went wide. You had never slept that late in your life.

“You should have woken me.” You shuffled around the bed searching for your dress.

“I didn’t want to wake you.” Sadness tinged her words. You held her eyes. You looked down at your feet and smiled. She’d seen all of you. But you still felt shy around her at times.

“Here let me get you something to wear.” She turned around and rummaged through her drawers. She produced a pair of gym shorts, and her grey UPenn Alumni t shirt.

“I can’t take that one. Where’s the dress?” You turned away from her extended offer, and looked around the foot of the bed.

She walked over to her white chair, and picked up the Badgley Mischka. She held it up in front of you, and stuck her hand through a long tear in the right inseam. You reached out for it, and sat back down on the bed. Holding it gently in your lap. Your fingers tracing the frayed edges of the tear. It broke your heart in a new and terrifying way. You fought to keep your composure. She sat down beside you, and placed her hand on your back.

“I can get it fixed.” She rubbed your back softly with the palm of her hand. You shook your head.

“I’m being ridiculous. It was your dress anyway.” You stood back up, and laid it down on the bed. You picked up the clothes she offered.

“It looked better on you.” She smiled at you in the mirror. You turned around to look into her eyes. There was so much you wanted to say to her. So many things you should have said the night before. But they wouldn’t change anything, and you tried but you couldn’t find them now in the bright afternoon light that flooded her room.

“I’m going to take a shower.” She leaned in and kissed your cheek softly. She turned to walk away. You fought for something, anything that would make her linger just a moment longer.

“I haven’t!” The words left your mouth before you considered what you were giving her. Or why. She turned around slowly. She tilted her head. You bite your lip nervously, shaking your head as you stared down at your feet. She closed the gap between you. You were doing it again. Just serving your heart up to her like some kind of sacrifice. She ran her hand through your hair, and lifted your chin with her fingertips. She fixed you to the spot with her eyes. Those soft, deep, hopeful eyes. She didn’t speak. You closed her hand over the side of your face, and held it there. You kissed her wrist. You didn’t look away.

“I haven’t slept with him.” It was all you could say, and more than you should have said. She ran her thumb over your bottom lip, and pulled you into a tight embrace. She kissed your temple, your forehead, your cheek. When her lips met yours you reached up, and held her head in place. Kissing her with all the force you could muster. The sheet fell in a pool of white around your ankles. She broke away, and slid her hands down your sides. Her eyes raked over you. You let her stare. Your hands wrapped around her forearms. She dropped her arms to her sides, and shut her eyes. She breathed deeply for a few seconds, and when she met your eyes again it was with great reluctance. The smile she gave you was the same smile she used at the cabin. A sad, defeated acceptance clouded her normally confident features. She took a step back, and shook her head.

“You will.” She nodded to herself. She turned. You watched her back until the bathroom door closed. The sob you were holding burst from your chest only for a moment. Because you knew she was right. Because she knew. And because she said it without jealousy or malice. Because she accepted it. Which was something you would never do. You straightened in the mirror. And dried your face. You breathed deeply, and shut your eyes against your screaming heart. You had cried enough over her. You planted your hands on the dresser.

“You don’t need her anymore.”

This was all for the best. You threw on her grey UPenn t shirt, but you couldn’t find your underwear. You cursed at yourself. You needed to get out of there. You needed distance. You flung open the drawers of her dresser. You grabbed the only pair of underwear she had that were not three hundred dollar lace Carine Gilson, or Guia La Bruna. You were closing the top drawer when something caught your eye. You slid the underwear on, and the gym shorts. You reached into the bottom of the back of the drawer, and removed a stack of photographs. They were all seemingly innocuous at first blush. But as you flipped through the stack you realized that most of them seemed to be taken around her apartment in Philly. They were not like the photos that adorned her walls. They were blurred, as though hastily snapped. Sides of cars, around the corners of buildings. The last picture of the stack was a clear picture of the back of a girl. She wore a bright red coat. The hood of it pulled down over her head. Hands in her pockets. The faintest whisper of blonde hair whipped out around her shoulders. It was an odd shot. Clear, but not of the same caliber as the rest of her work. The shower shut off. You fumbled to shuffle the stack, and bury it back in her drawer. You shut it quickly, and sprinted out the front door before you had to face her again. You kept running, the air felt calming against your face. You decided to keep going, and see how far your legs could take you. You didn’t realise you were barefoot until you reached the edge of town.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 7 was extremely taxing so I appreciate your patience. The love sequence was the longest I had ever attempted, and the story was so fraught with emotion that I became emotional more than once while writing. I would love to hear from you dear readers. But either way I hope you enjoyed this update. Next chapter: Everything Happens to Me.


	8. Everything Happens to Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 8 is here! Thank you for the comments, the kudos, the support. You guys have been so amazing. Thank you to BasketballRunner32 for her input on this chapter. I was kind of all over the place when I sent her the first draft. She confirmed my suspicions (gently), and it spurred me to change my approach. I hope you guys like this update. I took a very different approach pretty late in the game, but I believe in this chapter now more than ever.

The hum of the low hanging fluorescents buzzed incessantly in your ears. How long had you been sitting at that dingy little table? Long enough for the playing cards in the top drawer to seem like a godsend. You shuffled the deck thirty one times. You had not won a single game of solitaire. Not one game in twelve hands. Either you lost something in those woods, or you had the distinguished honor of being the unluckiest person in the world.

Still trying to find a win in all this.

Typical Hastings.

The khaki scrubs supplied by Radley made your skin crawl. The cotton was stiff and abrasive. It rubbed the back of your knees raw. They smelled like wet cardboard and motor oil. The sheets offered little reprieve. They reeked of bleach. Had Mona worn these clothes before they came to you? Had she slept in this bed? Were these her cards? You shuffled the deck a thirty second time. Basic Khlondike pattern. You weren’t trying to impress anyone. Just win a hand. One goddamn hand in thirteen was not asking too much was it?

Ten of spades on the Jack of diamonds.

The nurse shuffled around the door. A squat unpleasant woman with too many gaps in her teeth, and stringy blonde hair that was desperately clinging to it’s last dye job. Checks every fifteen minutes while you were under evaluation. It seemed both excessive, and impotent. You could accomplish a multitude of tasks in fifteen minutes.

You could empty out the dishwasher.

Write a thank you note.

Refold the t shirts in your bottom drawer. The old jerseys and participation handouts you never wear but can’t seem to throw away.

Read a chapter in a book.

Decline every pending game request cluttering up your facebook page.

Run two miles.

Clean your car.

Kill yourself.

You smiled, and the tape from the bandage on your chin pulled against the skin of your neck. It was a ruse. The illusion of restraint, of care. Besides, if you wanted to die you would have done so in the woods.

Toby.

You wondered if you would ever forget the feeling of your shoes sinking into the soft swollen earth around his body. Or the weight of his leather jacket pressing down against your fingertips as you lifted the edge to check for his tattoo. If you closed your eyes you could still feel the sting of skinny branches whipping across your face as you ran deeper and deeper into the dark.

You didn’t wipe the tears away anymore. You let them trickle down your cheeks. Gathering in the soft white embrace of sterile cotton, and curling the edges of the paper tape on your face.

Seven of clubs on eight of hearts.

How do people live this way? Paralyzed. Stagnant. How can you be swallowed by grief, and keep breathing? Keep running? Keep playing solitaire? Was it insensitive to be playing cards at a time like this? What is the etiquette when grieving the loss of a lover? You didn’t play cards when Alison died.

Died.

Toby is dead.

Three of diamonds on four of spades.

Your knee was starting to lock up from sitting too long. The right knee had been giving you trouble for years. You rolled it your first week of field hockey conditioning. You kept going. Pushed through the pain. It’s who you were. You never sat still this long. Who were they kidding with these chairs? The flat pine seat, and ramrod straight backing. The bars of the back boring into your spine on both sides.

Play up Ace of Clubs.

How does a person who is loved stop existing?  How are they gone with all these odds and ends left strewn about the floor? It’s as though you were completing a puzzle, and he stood up halfway through. Stuffed his pockets with a handful of pieces and disappeared. Would you ever know what you did to make him hate you so much? Did you even deserve to ask yourself that question? What reason did you give him to love you? That was a question you needed answered. He didn’t owe you anything. And he had loved you. You’re sure he did. When did it start? How long had he been in bed with -A before climbing into yours? Lately, it seemed as though -A dealings were a prerequisite to sleeping with you.

Melissa.

Play up two of clubs.

She would be here soon. She would see you like this. Half crazy, caged, and bruised. You couldn’t trust her anymore. If you had ever trusted her at all. When your friends suggested that she might have been dressed as the black swan on the night of the dance you could hardly believe your ears. When Hanna told you she and the girls had broken into her apartment in Philly you nearly strangled her. Not an uncommon emotion to wash over you when dealing with Hanna. But it quickly shriveled in your chest when Aria placed a single black feather in your palm, along with a costume receipt. Emily held your hand in silence while you argued with Hanna. They didn’t expect you to take it so hard. Nor did they anticipate you defending her as long and vehemently as you did. I mean you and Melissa weren’t even close right? Right. You still skirted the issue with your friends. But she was a suspect. On a never ending list of suspects. And there was a moment in the dark of your kitchen that you hoped it would be her face under that black hood the night you found Toby rifling through your utility drawer searching for the key to apartment A. Would you be able to hate her then? Possibly. But you couldn’t hate Toby, so probably not.

Four of hearts on five of spades.

Why are you doing this? Why are you still obsessing over her? Toby is dead. What difference does it make if she was dressed as the black swan that night? And she was. She admitted it. But the reason she gave you when you were standing in front of your mother just didn’t make any sense. None of it made any sense. She pursued you after. She invited you to the barn. You felt something that night. She felt something. You could feel it in her kiss, and it was written all over her face. You thought about her face after Wren dropped you off the other night. You hadn’t slept with him. But it had been a nice date. He made you laugh. Made you feel normal, which was something you desperately needed. You kissed in the car for a while. More than a while.

“I bought Wren that cologne.”

Completely dispassionate. Devoid of all emotion, delivered with mock sisterly concern you were certain. But no anger. No jealousy. Nothing. Which was a far cry from Toby’s reaction. Your sweet, shy, loving Toby locked you in a sauna and left you for dead. At least that was something. At least he cared enough to retaliate.

There is something very wrong with you.

Queen of hearts on…

What if not everyone gets to be loved? What if you don’t deserve it? Haven’t earned it? Can you earn it? Is love a prize or a trophy to be won? Is it just something that happens? Is it chemical? It felt that way with her. A pull, like two magnets. All consuming, unavoidable, messy, painful, enthralling, visceral. You couldn’t stop. You didn’t want to stop. Perhaps Toby had found out about the two of you. Maybe -A told him. Maybe he saw the two of you together. Maybe he could feel it in the way you stared at each other from the corner of your eye. Perpetually aware of one another, and yet evasive to an astounding degree. That could be why he did it. That would be a more than just reason to hate you.

Queen of hearts…

You’re never going to get to apologize to him.

The thought hit you like a brick wall. Never. You won’t get to say that you’re sorry. Or beg for forgiveness. Or try to explain. You don’t get to tell him all the things you loved about him. And he was never going to know all of you. See you for what you truly are, and make the decision to love you in spite of it. Or hate you and never speak to you again. What would the girls say if they knew? You thought of it often. Every clue you uncovered, and every text they received was a minor coronary infarction for you. They would leave. They wouldn’t hate you, but they would leave again. And you would be alone again. Empty without your tiny makeshift family. It had been such a new and wonderous expirience dating Toby. Having someone in your life that you could go on a date with, or a double date. Being able to talk to your girls about him. Being comforted by them during the rocky start to your courtship. Comparing Valentines day gifts, photos, little stories of particularly thoughtful moments. You didn’t have a support system when it came you the secret of Melissa and you. No one to talk to about all the little moments. There was no one to be excited with when she said something sweet for no reason. There was no one to commiserate with when she left you longing and broken. Begging for something real. Your parents would never tour you around the club on her arm. The absurdity of that image took a moment to come into focus, and when it did you a nervous laugh shook your shoulders. You belong in this place. You don’t deserve your friends. You didn’t deserve Toby. The weight of your own precarious reality settled down on your chest. The tears began anew, because you realized you still had so much left to lose. You let your fear, and loneliness engulf you. It was too hard to keep fighting it. You laid the Queen of hearts down on the table, and buried your head in your arms. It felt good to let go of everything you had been swallowing, and weep.

You didn’t hear her come in. You didn’t smell her perfume. Just two strong hands wrapping around your shoulders. You knew they were hers. You would always know her touch. _Not had their eyes been stricken blind. Hands cut off at the elbow_. The remembered line calmed you, but you tensed under her touch.

“I found you.”

Spoken as though she could hardly believe it. Whispered like a sigh. Your head still rested in your arms when you turned to face her. She crouched down beside the table. She pulled her long fingers through your knotted hair. She had never looked so tired. Dark rings around her eyes. No makeup. Her hair was flat, and the ends twisted around in a way that suggested the style was yesterday’s. Her eyes darted back and forth between yours as she hovered between sitting and standing.

“Ollie Ollie Oxen Free.”

Melissa pursed her lips and rose slowly. Her face contorted into an incredulous expression. You braced to bear the storm that was her undivided fury. She clenched her fists, and walked over to the bed. She kept her back to you, gripping the rail at the end of the bed. But she did not raise her voice. She didn’t speak at all. She brought her free hand up to her face, and fastened it to her mouth to muffle the cries that ripped through her. You sat up slowly. Was she breaking down now? You were institutionalized, which in your opinion was far overdue. And your perfect, capable, in control, seemingly confident, level headed sister was falling apart. Because she was all of those things, until it came down to you. Had you always known that? She held herself upright with the white knuckled hand that strangled the bed rail. What must it have been like? Searching for you. Not knowing if you were alive or dead. Playing out all the different possible scenarios and conclusions. How do you apologize for putting someone through something like that? And why were you still so angry with her? Would that ever go away? Would you ever stop punishing each other? Perhaps. But not today.

“Melissa.”

She did not turn around. You stood slowly, and walked up behind her. You held her small waist in your bandaged hands, and pressed your cheek between her shoulder blades. She quieted, and rubbed her face briskly. You felt her deep, calming inhales. You listened to the quieting of her pounding heart, as you rubbed your hands along her back. You would have paid any price or prayed to any deity that would listen if it meant turning this moment into some kind of balm. If you could take her tears and be sated. Secure in the knowledge that she cared. That you mattered to her more than she would ever verbally admit. You fought to feed the tiny hole inside of you that craved her love. But it wouldn’t accept the offering. Your face against her back didn’t make your heart flutter the way it used to. Her tears seemed out of place.

You wrapped your arms around her shoulders, and turned her around. Her cheeks were slick and red. Stray strands of mussed hair clung to the sides of her face. You could see anger in her eyes, but it was so much more than that. Anger, hurt, fear, and distrust. Or vulnerability maybe? You weren’t sure. You dried her eyes, and smoothed the hair back from her face. She caught your wrist, and examined your bandaged hand. Running her fingers gently over the cotton cocoon of your palm. She traced the edges of the bandage on your chin with trembling fingertips.

“I fell.” You offered but you weren’t sure she was listening. Her hands pressed along your body surveying the damage. Two ears, two eyes, ten fingers. You stood, patient and still while she examined you. You fought the old urge to press your body against hers, and trail your kisses along her neck. To blind her to all the terrible truths she already knows. To cover what you were; the bitter citrus of you, and coat it with desire. Like an autumn apple dressed and made dessert. Something told you she wasn’t biting, and that any affection from her would only fuel the rage you felt. You had begged her to care. You begged her to love you. You stood naked in the barn pleading with her to admit that she didn’t want to see you with Toby. She turned and walked away from you.

Her hand wrapped around the back of your neck, and her embrace was crushing. She pressed her lips to the top of your unwashed hair, and tucked your head under her chin. You couldn’t see her face, but you could feel her shaking her head. She sat you both down on the edge of the bed, but she kept her hand on the side of your face. She kept you pressed against her. Her fingers sneaking under your hairline every now and then, massaging the back of your head. You shut your eyes against the pain, and sat rigid in her arms. It had been so long since she touched you even in passing. She became self conscious, and placed her hands on your shoulders holding you back at arms length. A tear clung to the edge of her jaw. You caught it with the pad of your thumb, and examined it as though the act of crying was suddenly foreign to you. She clasped the sides of your face in her warm palms.

“Spencer.”

Her voice broke. She took a moment, a deep breath, and continued.

“What happened?” Her hands squeezed the sides of your jaw. She was fighting the urge to shake the hell out of you. The question amused you more than it should have. You stared intently into her eyes, your voice was even and deadly calm.

“How far back would you like me to go?” You turned your head, and pulled yourself away from her hands. She continued slowly shaking her head. She turned her face up to the ceiling. Looking for an answer in the white paneling. In the fluorescents. Maybe even from god. Though you doubted greatly that she was in any way spiritual. She bit the inside of her cheek. It was taking all the patience she owned not to strangle you. Again. She rubbed her hands along her black slacks. Could the nurse get her a pair of khaki scrubs to match yours? She looked so terribly out of place in her grey tweed Banana Republic blazer. She reached over and clasped your hand in her hand. She brushed your knuckles with her thumb.

“Doctor Sullivan told me about Toby Cavanaugh.” She squeezed your hand, but she looked out at the barred window past your tiny desk. Did you want to talk to her about Toby? She would know what you were going through. But would she dain to relate to you? She wasn’t the person you went to for comfort. Toby was that person. Emily was very much that person. You could talk to Emily about him. She was so intimately familiar with loss. That was unfair. A man as genuine and caring as Toby was dead. A woman as gentle, and sweet as Emily buried not one but two people she loved. Toby would make a third. She loved Toby. Your heart broke for her.

“Spencer?” She squeezed your fingers again. She had turned to face you, her eyes nervously searching your face for some sign of acknowledgment. Now she was concerned. Now that you had disappeared for two days, and nearly died in the woods. What was she fishing for? Did she want to know what you were feeling? Thinking? She never cared before. Why were you so angry? You could feel a fire burning in your breast, and it scared you how much you wanted to hurt her. You bit it back. You folded your hands in your lap, and scooted away from her.

“I keep losing.”

You picked at a line of dirt still nestled in the bed of your thumbnail.

“What?” She made a motion like she was going to reach out to you again. But your eyes flicked up to the hand that crept across the bed towards you and she recoiled.

“Solitaire.”

Her brow furrowed, and she tilted her chin. She repeated the word to herself, as though she just needed to hear it again to understand. But there was no code. You did not want to talk to her about Toby. You didn’t deserve him, that much was settled. And she hadn’t earned the right to be the person who puts you back together now that he was gone. Not when she was the person who was usually ripping you apart. She stood and walked over to your desk. Examining the cards the stretched across the table top. You could practically hear the grinding of gears in her head as her hand hovered over your plays. She reached down, and rearranged three cards. Her fingers fluttering as she played out the game in her mind. Satisfied, she turned with folded arms, and stared back at you.

“You’re playing your hand up too quickly.”

She resumed her spot on the tiny mattress. Closer than she had been before. You dug your nails down into the mattress. Your self loathing soaring to dangerous new heights.

“I called Mom and Dad. They’re trying to get a flight but everything is grounded. They’ll be here as soon as they can.” Her hand rested palm up beside your leg. You did not reach for her.

“In the meantime I will work on getting you released.” She balled her hand, and tucked it back in her lap.

“Don’t bother.”

“What?” She stood again, this time in front of you.

“It’s a seventy two hour mandatory evaluation Melissa. It’ll be over before you have time to pull strings. Don’t. Bother.” You spat the last part out between gritted teeth. It landed between the two of you with a dull thud. It was a warning. She took to pacing around the room. She was out of her depth here. And then, she took you both by surprise.

“Tell me what to do.” She stood in the middle of the room, with hands stretched towards you. Her voice thin.

So this was the truth of it. This was the core of her. Melissa in a crisis with everything stripped away. All her titles, her accomplishments, her successes. The truth was; that everything she had was hers because she did as she was told. Without some point of reference, some form of guidance she was as good as lost.

“In case you missed it Melissa. My decision making rights have been revoked by the state of Pennsylvania.” There was more than a little taunt in your tone. She narrowed her eyes, and squared her shoulders. She placed her hands on her hips.

“What do you want from me? What do you need? And please this time without sarcasm.” If you wanted a fight you would have one. Her body language made it clear that she was more than willing. You considered her question for a moment. You rolled it over in your mind. Testing the waters for sincerity. What would she give you? Would you ever be in a place to make demands of her again? Carpe Diem.

“Why were you dressed as the Black Swan Melissa?” She folded her arms over her chest, and she shifted her weight on her left leg.

“What could that possibly have to do with anything Spencer?” She didn’t soften the edges of her voice. Neither of you were making steps to cover the tension that boiled between you. You lifted your eyebrows innocently, and shrugged.

“Well I don’t know. Maybe because no one will tell me the fucking truth, and it’s driving me more than a little crazy.” It infuriated her when you cursed at her. She found it deeply disrespectful, and unintelligent. She popped her neck with a palm to her chin, and paced a little faster. Watching you like a caged beast.

“I told you the truth. -A sent me there to distract Jenna.” She stopped pacing. She folded her arms, and tried very hard to project a confidence that did not reach her eyes.

“Do you remember that night you took me in your car on the way home from the lake house?” She took a step back like she was finding her footing after a punch to the chest. Of course she remembered. You smiled to yourself, and stood, stalking her like a cat.

“You said something that night. Something I repeated in my head for a long time before I realized why it stuck out.” You were behind her, whispering into her ear. She was still as stone.

“That you’re a fucking psychopath?” Her voice lifted like she was playing along, calling your bluff. But you weren’t bluffing. You were out for answers or blood, and it didn’t really matter which. You laughed, a deep frantic sound that caused her to turn quickly in your direction. Keeping her eyes on you as she took a single step back.

“No. Although you did call that one.” You walked towards her. She back peddled. You poked her in the chest as you spoke. Each word punctuated by the pressing of your index finger against her sternum.

“You said ‘Whatever hooded ghosts plague your conscience when we’re still,’”you paused for effect, dropping your voice. “Knuckle deep in one another, is your own problem.”

She narrowed her eyes. She did not see where you were going with this. Her back hit against the far wall of your room, and you stood pressed against her front with the palm of your right hand beside her head.

“Hooded.” You smiled as the word took root for her. She fought to control her features, but her breathing became erratic. She looked past you towards the window. You turned her face towards you with your left hand, and kept your fingers wrapped around her chin.

“How long have you been getting the texts Melissa?” She ripped her chin from the grip of your fingers, and tried to push you away from her. You wrapped your hands around her wrists, and pinned them to her chest. Her head knocked loudly against the wall. She grimaced from the pain, but she fixed you in her stare. She was silent. She was not afraid of your anger. But she was afraid of something. You went for broke.

“Is there proof?”

She knew what you were asking. Her eyes clouded with fresh tears, and she turned towards the door. You were so close to breaking her defenses. You could feel the muscles in her body tensing to make a run for it. You tightened your grip on her wrists and shook her again. But the eyes that met your eyes were strangers to you. There was no game there. She wasn’t playing with you. Her eyes were open, finally, and she was terrified.

“Yes. There is proof.” She swallowed harshly, and a single tear slid from the corner of her eye and rolled slowly down her cheek. Her chest began to shake. She was drowning in panic. You loosened the grip on her wrists and she threw her arms around your neck and fell apart in your embrace. If you could have managed death on the spot, without causing her anymore pain you would have welcomed it. You were wretched. Your body relaxed slightly, and you wrapped your arms around her back. You whispered into her ear.

“Tell me.” You rubbed the same small circles on her back that she rubbed over yours. She was tense. She was frightened. -A was part of it. Your reaction was the other.

“The letter.” She placed her hands on your shoulders and pushed back to watch your face. She searched your face for acknowledgment. But the words meant nothing to you. You repeated them back to her. She nodded, her eyes darting back and forth between yours. Surprise settled around the corners of her eyes and mouth. She touched your face gently. A delicate, sentimental gesture that softened your heart. The anger that she held for you. The hostility you were accustomed to in your dealings with Melissa was nowhere to be found. She looked at you like an unspoiled thing. Like you were clean and new. She looked at you the way Toby used to, but it was much more than you were prepared to deal with right now. She started laughing, a joyous relief seizing her heart. She touched along your face, and lips. You took a step back. Frightened by the sudden change in her.

“You didn’t read it.” She covered her smile with her hands.

“Melissa, I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Was it too late to reserve an additional room at Radley for your sister?

“Exactly!!” She nearly jumped for joy when she screamed it.

“What?!”

She schooled her features, and forced a calm to settle around her countenance for your sake. The pieces began snapping into place before she spoke.

“I wrote you a letter. But you never got it.” She was beginning to worry again, to brace for your reaction.

“When?” You weren’t sure what you were feeling anymore. Everything was numb. What had she done?

She could feel the change in mood. She bit nervously at her bottom lip.

“The night of Alison’s funeral. I couldn’t sleep when I got home. I wrote to you.” You closed your eyes, and sat down on the edge of the bed. A wave of nausea swept through you. You held your head in your hands and stared at the floor. A heavy silence hung between the two of you. You did your best to level out your voice when you spoke again.

“What did you put in that letter Melissa?” It tumbled from your lips a weighted accusation. You didn’t mean for it to come out as harshly as it did. She turned towards the door, and leaned with her shoulder against the wall. She stared at her palms.

“Everything.”

You felt like you were going to be sick. You thought back, fumbling along the timeline. Alison’s funeral. The night she left you a crying mess, half dressed on your knees. The first time you begged her to stay. She left. Like she would always leave you.

“I thought…” You lifted your head, and eyed her with caution. She chewed at nail of her index finger. A nervous tick she’d had when you were younger. You thought your mother had broken her of that. She must have realized, because she dropped her finger, and folded her hands. She turned from the door, shoulders resting against the wall. She kept her eyes on her feet. Working something over in her mind. You clasp your hands around the edge of the bed, and waited.

“You never wrote me back. You never called. I thought....”

You shook your head. It was no wonder she never improvised. Look what happened when she did.

“Tell me what was in the letter Melissa.” Her eyes shot up. She wiped her nose and eyes with the cuff of her blazer. She stood up straighter.

“It doesn’t matter now.” She adjusted her coat. You were more than familiar with the motion. She was going to take her leave from you. You lounged towards her again, but her palm shot out and pushed into your chest. You tumbled back against the bed.

“It matters more than ever! Everything we do matters, because it all becomes fodder for -A in the end!” You stood on shaky legs. She tilted her chin, and raised her finger to your face.

“Do not put your hands on me again Spencer.” You huffed, and took another step towards her. You had been stronger than her for a couple years now. She laughed at your persistence.

“You know what, do. Throw me into a wall if it makes you feel more in control.” She met your step, and all the vulnerability she had shown froze under the ice of her stare. It was a rare gift. She wasn’t going to lose anymore to you than she already had.

“Perhaps I should ask Wren to sedate you on my way out.” She pressed her front against you, but you were still too close to the bed. It put you off balance, and you had to wrap your hand around the foot rail to keep from falling. She smiled.

“I’m sure he would love that.” Her face just a breath from yours. This was the reaction you had been anticipating. Not the cold indifference you were met with before Toby…

Steamy with him. Steamy with me.

“You.” You stepped around her.  

“You locked me in the sauna!” She ran a hand through her hair, and arched her brow at you because you weren’t fooling anyone.

“I gave you exactly the reaction you were gunning for Spencer.” As calm, and as even as though she were discussing the details of a plea bargain.

“YOU TRIED TO KILL ME!”

“That’s a bit melodramatic. I scared you. You’re fine. The sauna is fine.”

“FINE?! I’M IN AN ASYLUM!”

“You should call your mother. She’s worried. I’ll get started on the paperwork for your release.”

She turned on her heels, and walked out the door without looking back. You reeled in your cell. She locked you in the sauna. You were furious. You were hysterical. At least you tried to be. But you were starting to piece the puzzle together again. How could you think that Toby would do something like that? That he could be that ruthless? A little part of your heart began to heal. He didn’t hate you. There must have been a reason for his defection. -A had to have offered him something. Melissa had been the one to retaliate. And she was right. You had hoped it would bring out a reaction. You walked over to your desk, and stared down at the game she rearranged. You played five more cards. You were going to win this hand. The queen of hearts came back around. You held it inches from your face. -A had something you wanted. You needed to know what was in that letter. Whether or not it contained incriminating evidence against you. You needed to know what had possessed Toby to join their side. For the first time since you arrived in Radley you wanted out. She gave you back the memory of Toby. She reminded you who you were.

Queen of Hearts on King of spades.

“Bitch.” You shook your head and smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can you believe the next chapter will be our last? I may have to stretch it out into two chapters for sentimental reasons. I'm just not ready to abandon ship, if you will. I would love to hear from you. How do you want to see this story end? Thank you again. So much. 
> 
> Last Chapter: No Regrets


	9. No Regrets - Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dear Readers,
> 
> I am so sorry for the delay in posting. I really try to keep my updates a week to ten days apart max. I had an urgent family matter that took me out of town for a few days. And what did I find upon returning? That I had nearly reached 1000 views. Unbelievable. Thank you so much.  
> This chapter was difficult because it was less about the dynamic between Spencer and Melissa, and more about Spencer's time on the A Team. But my lovely Betas assured me that it was safe to post. Thank you again, and again to BasketballRunner32 for all her assistance these past few weeks. Also thank you to my friend and recent Beta Adorablepancreas. She also writes, and I encourage each of you to look her up on fanfiction.net. They have both been so wonderfully encouraging, and helpful.

  


Your palms were sweating in the confines of your standard issue black leather isotoners. You had never given much thought to -A team attire beyond “menacing”. But wearing a heavy black hoodie with the hood pulled up and black leather gloves in the middle of spring was beyond cumbersome. That the assault on yourself and your friends was a labor of hate was beyond question. But your new uniform was eye opening.

Mona.

Toby.

Those were just the names you knew. You were sure there were others. Mona’s lair, the data she was collecting. That was hardly a one woman show. And the more time you spent with her, the more convinced you became that for all her brilliance she was a puppet. Nothing more than a pawn. Ok, a rook. Who were these people that they held such contempt for you? How was that even possible? Sure you’re a perfectionist. A know it all. An overachiever. A liar. And a Hastings. But the only people you had ever given just cause to hate you were Toby and Melissa. It all seemed like overkill. There was the faintest tug on your sleeve. You looked down into wide brown eyes.

“Where are we going?”

Malcolm stared up at you with a wide trusting smile. You felt sick. You knelt down beside him.

“We’re going to the circus buddy, remember?” You ruffled his hair with a gloved paw.

“Is Aria gonna meet us there?” He swayed his tiny body to the distant hum of the carnival music.

“Ya. She’ll find us.”

Please god Aria put it together.

What was going through her mind right now? You couldn’t imagine the fear she felt. How were you going to explain this to her? Would she ever forgive you? You needed a win. Something to take back to the group. Something tangible and solid. A real lead. You wished like hell you had taken the photograph of Red Coat with you, instead of shoving it back in Melissa’s underwear drawer. But you had no idea what you were holding. If Melissa beat you to Red Coat what else did she know? So far, you had not been left unattended in Mona’s RV for a single second. You couldn’t touch a laptop without her looking over your shoulder at the screen. You agreed to tonight because you needed clout, and you knew the boy would be safe if he were with you.

You bought Malcolm an ice cream to keep him quiet, and happy. You bought him a balloon as a visual queue for Aria. Two tickets to a puppet enacting of Faust by Goethe. You loved Faust. At least you had, prior to this. The story of a doctor who sells his soul to the devil for knowledge. The irony was not lost on you.

You pulled the edges of your hood forward, and kept your head down. There were so many familiar faces in the crowd. People who knew you, knew your family. How did the -A team keep such a low profile in a town this small? What did that say about their families and their socio economic standing within the community? Not a lot. Then again most of their deeds were conducted at night, in cabins, in the woods. You released a heavy sigh. You were reaching. You needed unmitigated access to that laptop. Just one hour.

You kept a close eye on your watch. If Aria was coming, she couldn’t be that far off. You told Malcolm to wait there. That another show would be starting soon. He smiled, and kept licking his ice cream.

“Alison where are you going? You’ll miss it!”

You turned, and rubbed his arm.

“I have to take care of something. But you wait here. Watch the show. I’ll be back I promise.” The leather of your thumb pulled against the skin of his cheek when you stroked it. There had to be a special place in hell for people like you. You hid in wings behind the squat stage. It was dark and dusty, but you were able to keep an eye on him from the shadows. It felt like forever before Aria showed up. In all fairness it had to be difficult covering so much distance with such tiny legs. You chuckled at the memory of Team Sparia and the bubbly face she made when you told her she was small, but big. The warmth that spread through your chest died quickly when you watched the way she embraced Malcolm. Teary eyed, tucking his head under her quivering chin. You slid down the wall against a stack of plywood and held your head in your hands. You ripped off your hood, and gloves. You felt like you were suffocating. You kidnapped a seven year old boy to sneak a peek at a love letter, and dig up dirt on your dead boyfriend. You did it to impress Mona Vanderwaal. It was more than that. Bigger than that. But guilt just didn’t carry the same weight when you called it espionage. And you wanted very much to wallow and hate yourself for a little while.

The prepaid cell phone vibrating against your thigh awoke you from your loathing. Mona sent one line.

“Is it finished?”

You peeked out past the curtains at a now deserted tent. A sea of white folding chairs sticky with spilled ice cream, and the impossibly dirty prints of tiny hands. You imagined Aria, and Ezra tucking Malcolm safely into bed. The whole abduction a mere attempt to drive Aria to the same place Mona had driven you.

“It’s done.”

You picked up your gloves, and shoved them in the pocket of your jacket. You folded the hoodie under your arm, and walked out of the tent with your head held high. But you felt nothing like Spencer Hastings. The long walk home gave you time to reflect on the choices that brought you here. You had never felt like Spencer Hastings had you? No. Perhaps when you were winning. When you were first. When you were the best, and brightest, most promising something. But a person is not a trophy, and medals are not fuel. Maybe if you had more substance you wouldn’t be in this situation. You wouldn’t have needed Alison to tell the world to pay attention to you. To tell your classmates how important you were. You wouldn’t have sought out Melissa’s affections, because that Spencer would be filled with promise and integrity. You wouldn’t have stuffed the lining of your soul with the dusty pages of forgotten library books. You would have been too busy living.

The house was dark, and dormant when you arrived. You didn’t know where your parents were. Yesterday they took you to Toby’s grave. They were kind. They waited in the car while you settled on the grass, and whispered the truth of all that you were down into the still settling soil. It was cathartic salting the earth with your tears.

But that was yesterday. Today they were...where were they? Dinner at the club? Working late at the office? Drinks with clients? Spain? It was impossible to say. The barn was dark in the corner of your yard. Melissa was in DC by now. You stood in the lawn and recounted the events from your run in with her the night before. It was the first time you’d spoken since you came home from Radley. You hadn’t been able to sleep that night. You hadn’t been sleeping at all as of late. Too many emotions brought to the surface at Toby’s grave, and you were nervous about your first A Team assignment. You went downstairs to find Melissa shuffling around the kitchen. It was just after 11:00pm. You stood frozen in the living room staring at her back. She stopped moving, and turned around.

“I couldn’t sleep” you explained, and immediately wondered why this felt like intruding. She was surprised you were speaking to her. Her eyes never left your face as she walked the stove, and and retrieved a large carving knife. She held it limply in her wrist, and gestured to the stools beside the island. Always waiting for permission from her you took a seat. She cut the sandwich she had prepared down the middle, and used the knife to slide half on a smaller plate. She laid the knife down on the counter. The blade cast reflected streams of light up against the ceiling. She handed the smaller plate to you, and settled down at the island leaving an open stool between you. You took a small bite in silence, and stared down at your plate. After a couple bites she spoke.

“You went to the graveyard today?”

You set the sandwich down, and nervously rubbed your palms against the skin of your thighs. You nodded. She nodded. Another few bites.

“Mom said they’re sending you to DC.”

She nodded. You nodded.

“I leave in the morning.”

The motion of her hand sweeping a hair back from her face caught your eye. She was wearing a white tank top, and black running shorts. The same outfit she had worn that night in the barn. It felt so long ago, but the memories had not faded. The way her hair fell around her face in soft waves when she removed her ponytail. The deliberately slow kisses she mapped down your spine. You shivered, and she turned her head at the sudden movement. She froze, with her sandwich poised up off the plate in her long beautiful hands. Neither one of you breathed. Her eyes ran skillfully along your face. You knew what she saw there. It was the same emotion that had begun to blossom along her neck and cheeks. You knew you should cover it, hide it. But you hadn’t expected it to sneak up like this. You watched her eyes. Her eyes were where you lived once, and oh yes. It was most certainly there. Her body suddenly alive with desire for you. She looked away, and stood abruptly to retrieve a napkin. Your heart fell when she settled back down on the stool. Her knees turned just slightly away from you.

You finished your sandwiches in silence. When she collected your empty saucer your hands brushed. She looked down into your eyes, and you felt an all too familiar heat rush through you. You stood up against her. Your bodies front to front nearly touching. She still felt like Melissa. But you didn’t feel like you belonged to her the way you once did. You thought about Toby.

I haven’t slept with him.

You will.

She was right. Of course she was right. And now look at you. Standing there fractured, fighting to feel something. Anything. You looked away this time, and sighed deeply. Her eyes still running along the planes of your face. Her uneven breath tickling the skin of your neck. You stepped back reluctantly.

“Good night Melissa.”

You made your way to the stairs as quickly as you could without running, but she called your name before you could escape. You stopped, hand poised on the banister, and turned slowly. Her face was thoughtful, and pained while she arranged her words. Why couldn’t you just hate her? It was so easy to hate her. You wanted the venom you possessed at Radley to surge through your veins again. But it was only ever good for one blow up. Too quick to flood you, and just as quickly spent. Take my milk for gall, you thought. But this wasn’t Shakespeare. Your feelings couldn’t be arranged in iambic pentameter. This was your messy life. Your foolish heart.

“I’m very sorry about Toby.”

She straightened, one hand bracing the counter. Like she was using it to fix herself in place. You smiled at her with the same half smile she used on you, and your eyes teared up at the edges and you hated yourself for needing her so desperately.

You nodded rapidly, and took a steadying breath. You walked with hurried steps up the stairs, you rushed into your room, and shut the door. You settled your back against it. Your pulse raced the way it used to race for her. You bid your heart to settle with clenched fists. After you calmed you undressed yourself in front of the mirror. Looking for bruises or wounds blooming against your chest. It didn’t make sense that you could hurt this deeply without visible signs of trauma.  You stared too long at the composition of your body. You were not a beautiful thing. You were something that requires something else. Toby’s large hands. Melissa’s olive skin. Your oxfords. Your cardigans. The large black framed glasses you wore that were too big for your square face. A book in hand. Your friends. You were naked in an empty way without them. Like a vase waiting for flowers.

That night you did something you hadn’t done in a very long time. You crawled on top of your bedspread, and curled up facing the door. You fell asleep staring at the light from the hall. Waiting for a shadow.

Another buzz against your hip shook you from your rememberings. The all too bright screen illuminating your darkened silhouette.

“Tomorrow. 10am.”

You locked the screen, and dropped it back in your pocket. You walked around the side of your dark house, and settled on the patio as silent and still as the sleeping barn.

Mona kept the RV in the woods, tucked down a tiny road almost too narrow for sedans. It was as if the lair had always been anchored to that spot and the trees had grown up around it. The rain started as a drizzle, but was falling in sheets when you stood rapping loudly against the aluminum door. You knew she was in there. But she was having too much fun making you stand in the rain. She opened the door with a bemused grin. The hushed tones of Vivaldi wafting out through the screen door.

“Spencer. My apologies. I couldn’t hear you over the music.”

You clenched your jaw, and shouldered past her shaking the droplets from your hair. You removed your now soaked hoodie, and hung it on the back of the door. Mona still smiling, told you to have a seat. You settled on the bench seat at the tiny flip down table scattered with photos of everyone you had ever loved. An open laptop waiting for your arrival. The screensaver bounced to and fro in long languid passes. A quote from the Art of War by Sun Tzu:

All warfare is based on deception.

Mona tossed a fleece blanket in your lap, and settled a cup of black coffee beside your balled fist. To her eternal credit, everything she did she executed perfectly. Even aware as you were of the tactics she implied, you were permanently on edge and off balance with her.

“Good work last night.”

She stood with her back pressed against the sink, blowing lightly on the coffee in her hands. You glared at her through the wet strands of hair that framed your face. She laughed, a carefree lighthearted sound, and settled across from you at the table. You froze, your hands poised on the keys of the laptop in front of you. Was she going to move once you started typing? You pulled up the C: Drive and waited. She hummed along with the music, and shuffled papers around inside the manila envelope in front of her. Had she seen the letter? Did she know about your relationship with Melissa? You had no way of knowing for certain. Which gave way to several possibilities:

1\. Mona was far better at hiding her disdain and focusing on the bigger picture than you.

2\. Mona was not privy to the letter.

3\. There was no letter.

You flirted with each scenario.

You would be more inclined to believe option 1 had Mona not hijacked you after the masquerade ball and nearly drove you off a cliff because Hanna didn’t want to be best friends anymore.

It was a possibility that Mona was not authorized to read the letter. But as you stole yet another glance around the RV you couldn’t begin to imagine that a secret that devastating wouldn’t have a shrine built in it’s honor.

The third was safely the most probable. There was no letter. Which may also indicate that Melissa played you into Mona’s hand. And finally that Melissa was either A Team herself, or was in far deeper than you know. Your stomach rolled at the prospect. The writing on the bathroom mirror was A Team behavior. Her aim was to hurt you the night she locked you in the sauna. What was she playing? And for whom? You felt Mona’s unwavering glare before you looked her in the eyes.

You doned your finest poker face as you clicked on the folder marked ‘Cavanaugh, Toby’.

“The boss was very pleased with your work Spencer.”

You smiled a tight lipped grin, and nodded.

“I am to give you this.”

Mona held out the thin envelope she had been arranging across the cluttered tabletop. Like a rectangular olive branch. Her face was open, optimistic.

“What is it?”

You held the package half expecting it to begin melting the skin off your fingertips.

“Answers.”

Mona stood with a flourish, and walked towards the small bedroom at the back of the RV. She rustled around the door for a few minutes before returning. She was clad in her black hoodie and gloves when she stood before you.

“I have a job to do. So do you. Next assignment is in the file. I won’t be long.”

She paused with her hand on the trailer door. She was staring you down.

“And I will be here.”

Mona nodded slowly, and peered at you from under her hood.

“Yes. You will.”

With that small threat she was swallowed by the rain, and you were alone for the first time in the RV. You opened the manila folder as carefully as one would diffuse a bomb. You began to arrange the contents out on the table. The papers seemed to be medical transcripts.

Cavanaugh, Marion.

Cavanaugh, Marion.

Cavanaugh, Marion.

Pages upon pages of hospital records, psychiatric consults, patient notes, prescriptions, and photographs. Most of what you read didn’t make any sense. Areas red lined, and highlighted that seemed to be of little to no consequence. His mother was gone either way. Why was he digging all of this up now?

Dig.

Why did he dig all of this up.

Past tense.

You took a long pull off your coffee.

The highlighted areas seemed to be about her suicide at Radley. There were even police records, and eyewitness accounts. The red lined areas proved upon reading to show inconsistencies within the statements. The highlighted sections captured certain irregularities in protocol, and doubts voiced by both the Coroner, and her attending Dr. Louis Palmer. But there was nothing concrete here. It was all speculation. A colossal dramatization of what Toby already knew. His mother was gone. The laptop fell asleep, and the screen saver bounced tauntingly back and forth.

All warfare is based on deception.

You stood on shaking legs, and opened the trailer door. You needed air. Your head was spinning. All that betrayal for what? Now he was dead, and there was no COD here for his mother. Nothing solid. Nothing you could take to the police. You couldn’t get justice for him. He was gone, and you still couldn’t help him with the truth. Yours, or his mother’s.

You felt the panic cresting. Tears threatened the edges of your eyes like storm. You swallowed it back. One hand gripping the door frame while you drained your coffee, and poured a second cup.

Something told you before you sat back down in front of that laptop that you weren’t going to find the answers to Melissa either. But you pulled up the file anyway.

Hastings, Melissa.

It was larger than you expected. That was the first thought you had when you opened it. There had to be at least fifteen different sub folders. The folder names were numeric, and you could not make heads or tales of them. You just started clicking.

It was bad.

You found evidence to support allegations as small as several of Melissa’s published articles being expertly tailored forgeries. To allegations that implicated her in Alison’s murder. Photographs of her taken behind the DiLaurentis house the night Ali was killed. She was wearing the same outfit you saw on the NAT club video you had discovered. Proving not only that she was angry with Alison, but that contrary to what the tape revealed, she had found her. Furthermore she was one of the last, if not the last to see Alison alive.

Your cell phone buzzed against the table, and startled you so genuinely that you spilled hot coffee down the front of the fleece blanket Mona had given you.

“It’s finished. On my way back.”

You fumbled with the keys and responded immediately.

“I’m here.”

You clicked the files rapidly, searching for anything even remotely resembling a letter. Praying to whatever was listening that it wasn’t true. That she didn’t hurt Ali. That she couldn’t. That she wasn’t just a part of a plan to get you on A’s side. The last file name resembled a date. It was Halloween. You clicked the folder, and a video began playing. It was Wilden. He was dressed as the Queen of Hearts on the Halloween train and he was yelling at someone. Another figure stepped into view. A second Queen of Hearts.

“I SAID I WOULD HANDLE IT! MY WAY!” He shouted.

The second voice...was a woman’s voice. You knew that voice. Your hands gripped the table top as the second Queen of Hearts reached up, and removed their mask. The audio cut out. But there was Melissa. Furious, and presumably screaming at Wilden. Her face, gestures, and posture alight with malice.

Melissa had tried to kill you. Again.

In the moments that followed, it was as though you felt each drop of blood as it drained from your face. You could practically feel the chill settling about your lips. Fear like a cold fist clenched your beating heart, and stilled it. Just for a moment, as your vision began to fade and finally tunnel. When you were certain that your impending blackout was in fact inevitable,  the grip around your heart released. Your body heated. And something pushed you to stand with unbelievably sure feet. A calm descended upon you that you had not known in ages. A kind of resolve. You walked to the small kitchenette sink, and splashed cold water on your warm cheeks. You patted them dry with yellow checkered dishrag, and folded the towel carefully before closing the distance you’d set between yourself and the laptop. Your right hand reached out, and closed the lid.

No answers for Toby.

No peace for him or for Marion.

There was no letter.

There were only lies. More lies. More pain. More deceit.

All this was for nothing. Or could be for nothing. If you let it. You were in now. You had a real chance to damage Red Coat’s operation from the inside. This discovery did not diminish that opportunity. All it accomplished was to serve as an underscore to a truth you already suspected.

She hated you.

For the first time you were glad. You were both finally on the same page.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Angsty I know! But bear with me. These women need a blow up. A big one. I will try my absolute hardest to get part 2 down on paper quickly so you do not have to wait so long for an update. But as a warning, work has been crazy and it may take me a little longer. Thank you again for all your patience, and views, and lovely comments. I would love to hear from each and every one of you.


	10. No Regrets - Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hello!! Thank you all so much for your endless patience. I cannot believe how long this chapter took to finish. I have good/bad news for you. This is not the final chapter. And also, hooray this is not the final chapter! I think it was reader 333 who expressed skepticism about my wrapping this up in 10 chapters. Touché 333, you were correct ;) I considered holding on to this post until I had tied everything up. But that update would have taken too long to finish, and I didn't want to keep you waiting longer than I already have.  
> A heartfelt thank you to my lovely betas Basketballrunner32, and Adorablepancreas. You guys are amazing, and you have brought so much to this little story. Thank you to everyone for reading. As always I hope this update does not disappoint.

It was not that you wanted to die. Not at all. Just that at a certain point you began to question why you did not want to die. There were nights when all you could do was lay awake in your bed and think of everything you had lost. Often, you found your thoughts drifting back to Alison. Wishing she were here to take this throne from you. To tell you the plan, like she used to. To chide you for your wasted misery, and drag you to some horrid party. Rejecting the advances of drunk frat boys seemed like a vacation compared to the sleepless nights. Your paranoia consumed your dreams, as well as waking life. You turned every moment with Melissa over in your mind. Every sentence, every gesture, every touch scrutinized for sincerity. You woke up exhausted.

What you wouldn’t give to see Toby standing at your door once more. His bright eyes, his wide smile. You were convinced that if you could spend one more night asleep in his arms you would take from him all the love you would ever need. You would store that love, and care for it. You would tend to it with an open, and patient heart. Maybe then you could sleep. Filled to the crown with his easy affection.

Did you miss the people that you lost? Or did you miss your innocence? It was a combination of the two.

You wrapped your chilled hands tighter around the warm mug they clasped, and stared intently into the black murky surface of your coffee. The ripples from your breath distorting your face, as your reflection bumped up around the edges. The morning air was chilled with the promise of fall. There would be many mornings to come just like this one. A sweatshirt and a cup of coffee on the patio beneath the large oak tree. Autumn was electric, it always filled you with a sense of peace, and pervading creative energy. At least it had.

Mentally you ticked off the tasks of the day. You had to get the address of that mask maker to Emily. Hector Lime. The mask had been a strange find. Hanna was rooting through Tippi the bird’s box of chew toys and various undesirables while the rest of your little brood flipped through Ali’s journals at The Brew. Emily was still begging you to lead the raiding party, but you were confident the girls could handle a little recon on their own. Besides you had to comb through the barn at least once more before Melissa returned. Your friends understood. They thought they did anyway. They swallowed every word you whispered when you told them about the evidence you found on Mona’s laptop; the forgeries Melissa had published. The clips of her with Ali the night of the murder. Their swift anger and villainization of her once disheartening was suddenly exactly what you needed. It fueled the fire of her continuous betrayal, and kept you focused. If you played those conversations with the girls back in the quiet of your bedroom and filled the gaps in truth with your own omitted dialogue it almost felt like being honest. Like spilling all your secrets to them. Which of course was something you could never do. As wonderful as it was to be able to talk to them about anything regarding Melissa, it was also disconcerting. They had no trouble whatsoever believing that she murdered Alison. Did you believe it? You wanted to believe it. The only person who had protested in the slightest was Aria when Hanna suggested that your sister tried to kill you on the halloween train. Aria was adamant that it had been Wilden who choked you.

“It had to be him.”

She wrapped her tiny fingers around your wrist, and shook her head fiercely. She would not believe that your sister could try to hurt you that way. You smiled at her, a thin grin and rubbed her back. You knew better. That was the last conversation you had with the girls lasting longer than ten minutes in the past two weeks. It hurt too much, and you were so tired of mentally grooming everything you said about Melissa to make yourself seem the ‘appropriate’ level of angry, hurt, scared, devastated.

How long did you have until your secrets took you right back to Radley? Weeks? Months? That was easily the biggest secret wasn’t it? That you belonged in there, and that every moment you spent outside those walls was little more than borrowed time. When did you get so weak? So defeated? There had been so many set backs, so many deaths, so many painful moments that it was not something you could pinpoint. Though you desperately wanted to flip through the disappointments like a photo album and say “There. That was the moment I gave up.”. A dry brown leaf floated down on the morning breeze and landed in your coffee. You frowned, and tossed the remainder of the cup out on the lawn. You stood with a slow stretch, and slid back inside the kitchen. The exhaustion never really left you, no matter how much caffeine you consumed. One more small cup and then you would head to Emily’s to join with the cavalry, sketch out your plays, and brave enemy lines. You rinsed your mug and poured another cup. A warm hand pressed against the small of your back. You screamed and slammed the mug down, taking a giant step back into the island. Your hip gave a hollow knock when you made contact with the granite countertop.

“I’m sorry.”

Melissa stood frozen with her hands up, as the faint promise of a smile curled the corners of her lips. You stood with one hand over your heart, and the other wrapped in a shaking fist at your side. She wasn’t due back for another two days. You thought to ask her why she was back so early, but you couldn’t open your mouth. Her eyes scanned over your face and posture as she stepped around you and poured her own cup of coffee. She didn’t turn back around right away. Her hip cocked as she stirred her beverage with deliberate slowness. Your eyes bore holes into her back as you curled your hands around the lip of the island. Your heart raced until the sound of your blood pumping hummed in your ears. You wanted to tear her apart with your hands. You wanted to hurt her the way she hurt you. Over, and over, and over again. But you couldn’t hurt her could you? Not like this. Not in the way she had wounded you. You didn’t matter to her enough to ruin her. But there was something you could take from her. That you well knew. After all, what did she value more than her reputation? More than the adoration of your parents? And what would she be left with when the truth finally came out? A few soiled business cards in the bottom of her purse, and her own memories. She wrapped her hands around her coffee, and turned to face you. The small of her back pressed up against the lip of the sink. The start of her smile washed away as she stared into your face. Her shoulders squared, her jaw clenched, as she covered what had looked like happiness to see you. She tilted her head slightly as she blew lightly on her coffee.

“How are you?”

The question sounded genuine, but she was probing. She knew you too well, and she could sense very acutely that something was wrong. You had never in all your life reacted to her touch with anything less than eager enthusiasm. Like a puppy. You bit the inside of your cheek until the side of your tongue was coated in the iron of your blood, and crossed both your arms in front of you. It looked confrontational. But what you were really trying to do was hold your rib cage together before your heart burst through your chest. As if called upon only by the siren song of her voice, you felt the warmth that always came when she was within arms reach spread through you in slow waves. It sickened you to the point that it rendered you temporarily mute. The only thing you had the strength to do was keep the tears behind your eyes, and keep your jaw locked to stop the tremble that started in the back of your neck from reaching your lips. It was going to be a process. Conditioning your body not to respond to her physical presence, or her gentle tone when you were alone together. She is only muscle and bone, you thought. We’re all just hungry animals in the end. Reaching, and clawing, and fighting, and pulling ourselves up against, and into anything that will make us feel less alone. You stood up, and reached across her for your own discarded coffee cup before walking around the island, and sitting at the first stool on the far side. She sucked her bottom lip between her teeth, and tapped the mug she held with her index finger. Her eyes fixed on you as she shifted her weight. She was wearing her navy blazer, and skirt. Her Birkin bag tossed on the counter, and her luggage wheeled up against the back door. Pressed up against it actually. What was that for? Did she prop it there so you would hear if someone entered? She’d done things like that before to ensure your parents couldn’t sneak up on you. Had she...was she trying to start something with you? A weary and embittered laugh rattled your shoulders as you considered the familiar way she touched you only moments ago. Standing so close you don’t know how her breathing didn’t give her away. The way her palm slid against the cotton of your jacket, moving down slightly, searching for skin. This couldn’t be real. This wasn’t your life. The monster who stole your heart, and killed your best friend was not your kin. And even if all of that was terrible enough to be true, she wouldn’t still try to seduce you after all she had put you through. No one was that impossibly sadistic and cruel. No one would single handedly strip away everything that meant anything to you, chizzle at your self worth, break down your defenses, drive you to the edges of your sanity, and still reach for you. There was nothing left. What could you possibly give to her that she had not already taken? That you had not given freely ten times over what had been requested? She stepped forward, visibly flustered by your laughter and placed both palms on the countertop in front of you. You had to hand it to her. She looked concerned. God she deserved an Oscar for her portrayal of a woman capable, and deserving of love. You repeated that line in your head, and took another sip of coffee. Anger wrapped it’s strong arms around your shoulders. You sat up a little straighter. She had tried to kill you. More than once. She had tried to kill Aria. She probably killed Ali. But you were still here. You were still breathing. And as long as there was blood in your veins you would play this game with her, for as long as it took to show her for what she really was. She was a fraud. You flicked your hair out of your face, and stared up at her as open, and unobstructed as you could.

“How was Washington?”

Her eyes narrowed as she tilted her chin up in suspicion. Her index finger tapped a steady beat against her porcelain mug.

“Good. I liked them. They liked me. How have things been here?”

You took another sip of coffee, and chuckled.

“Well lets see. Detective Wilden is dead. Someone pulled his car from the lake and left his body in the middle of town. You know. The usual.”

She grimaced and shook her head, setting her cup down on the counter with frustrated force.

“Jesus Spencer.”

You gave her a small shrug, and widened your eyes because at this point his murder did hold a certain level of poetic justice. Honestly it was comforting to you in a way. Knowing that this time it was not some poor innocent who was left cold and broken on the ground. We reap what we sow. And he had earned his end.

She ran her hand through her hair in annoyance, and walked towards the patio door. She stood silent, leaning slightly against the wall. The sun streaming in through the clear panes illuminated the edges of her, and licked the halo of her head gold. Your stomach sank. How was someone so horrible still so beautiful? Shouldn’t it show somewhere on her person? Shouldn’t it age her? Lessen her? Paint her black. Wear at the seams of her?

All warfare is based on deception.

You wanted to scream, but you didn’t. You sat watching her stare out across the bright lawn as she chewed at the corner of her mouth. The air was heavy with the weight of avoidance, and perilous with the certainty of further conversation. But you had nothing left to say to her. The words you felt hanging above your head did not belong to you. They were hers, and she was choosing them very carefully.

“I’ve been offered an internship.”

She spoke against the glass as if she was talking to the trees, or rehearsing a speech for someone else. When you didn’t reply she turned slowly, and pressed her back along the door.

“Could be San Francisco. Maybe London.”

Her eyes bore into yours. Fluttering every so often across your face. What kind of reaction was she seeking to inspire? You weren’t sure. What you did know what that you couldn’t stay seated at this counter any longer. She was playing you. She had to be. And it was dangerous because you didn’t see a plausible outcome. Unsure of your footing, you threw up a wall and decided to attack. It would be safer to force a confrontation than continue to sit beneath her gaze. Melissa was the most honest version of herself when she was furious with you. You stood with a nod, and closed the distance.

“That sounds like the perfect getaway.”

Her neck recoiled, and her brow furrowed. If you had been a gambler you would have lost the farm on her reaction. There was no blow up. She looked down at her feet, and shook her head.

“It might not be such a bad idea…”

She met your steely gaze with hesitance, and shifted her weight off the door. She stood level with you, and brushed the tips of her fingers across your jaw.

“For both of us get out of this fucked up little town.”

Her eyes flicked down to your lips, and you took a step back. Her hand lingering in the air where you stood for a moment, before it settled with a twitch against her side. Tears welled up in the corners of your eyes. You swallowed harshly, and tried to blink them away. She did not move towards you, but you could feel how much she was fighting it. You were fighting it. Your hands started to tremble, and your mind reeled. She looked heartbroken. The fury you felt crested to new heights, because she didn’t have the right to wear that forlorn expression. The tears spilled down your cheeks as you stormed over to the sink, and threw your mug into the steel basin. It shattered. Melissa flinched, but recovered quickly. You had to go. You had to leave. You weren’t sure what you were going to do if you lingered.

“Spencer…”

It was little more than a whisper. You looked over your shoulder at her just in time to watch a tear trace its way over the edge of her eye lid, and gloss a tiny river down her cheek. Her mouth quivered. Oscar Wilde wrote “When one is in love, one always begins by deceiving one's self, and one always ends by deceiving others. That is what the world calls a romance.” You were trapped somewhere in between.

Straightening your back, you walked hastily towards the living room and snatched your purse off the couch. She was perfectly still, only her eyes followed you.

“I’m late. I was supposed to meet Emily twenty minutes ago.”

You ripped the back door open, sending her luggage sputtering across the tiled entryway and slammed it shut as hard as you possibly could. For several minutes you sat in your car clutching your steering wheel like it was the only thing keeping you from drowning in the tears that flooded your face. Nothing made any sense anymore. You couldn’t hold the conviction of her guilt in your heart when you were around her. You had seen the tapes. You had seen the picture of Red Coat in her dresser drawer. You had felt her fingers close around your throat twice now. You knew she was liar because you had read the evidence for yourself on Mona’s laptop. She was on A Team payroll because she was dressed as the Black Swan, and the Queen of Hearts. She was sent there to deal with you, or she was the mastermind behind it all because she was too cunning to be a pawn. The fact that she was involved was just that. Fact. And she had sought to hide all of it from you when she knew you were being tormented. So why did you still feel this way? Why was your heart still breaking for her? Why couldn’t you shut her out?

Melissa walked out onto the patio just as you were backing out of the driveway. Your foot settled on the brake. She ran her hand up on down the side of her leg. The edges of her navy pencil skirt curling against the wind. Her hair  whipped around her face as her left hand reached out to grab hold of patio table. Her shoulders slumped forward, and her right hand shot up to cover her mouth. As your foot let off the brake, and your car rolled out into the street you thought you heard her scream.

You didn’t tell the girls that Melissa had returned home early. You needed time to think about how you were going to deal with her, and if your friends knew they would want to rush your play. You couldn’t rush something so delicate. Melissa wasn’t going to cop for anything unless she was forced. Unless the evidence against her was staggering, and as much as you told yourself to the contrary, it was not. The lawyer in you could see the holes. Your parents would be proud if it wasn’t their favorite child you were trying to entrap. You stayed close to your bedroom window waiting for Melissa to leave the barn. The lights from the windows cut long slivers of silver through the grass. You wondered why you wanted to search through her belongings again. Another rummaging would bring the total up to six. There wasn’t any sign of Red Coat left in her possession. You were certain. Maybe you liked running your hands over her clothes. Sitting on the edge of her bed. Surrounded by the scent of her perfume, and the silence of her absence. Maybe you needed to believe you were spying when the thrill of crossing that threshold ran down your spine, and you let your conscious flood with the memories of the night she finally invited you in. A gentle knock at your bedroom door made your heart leap, and you looked frantically around the room as though your thoughts were somehow painted on the walls. You stood, and adjusted your clothes. The knob turned slowly, and you walked to the center of your room. You weren’t sure how you missed Melissa leaving the barn, or why she thought she was welcome in your room after the way you’d reacted that afternoon.

“Spence?”

Hanna peaked her head nervously around the door. You sighed with relief, and more than a little disappointment.

“Hey what are you doing here I thought we were meeting up tomorrow?” You ushered her quickly inside, and closed the door behind her. She stood beside your bed, and fidgeted.

“Hanna what’s wrong? Where are Aria and Emily??”

Captured. Murdered. Hanna was the only one that got away, and you were too busy trying to find another excuse to run into Melissa to-

“They’re fine. We’re fine. Mask guy was a total creep, but we did get some answers.”

You exhaled a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, and sank down on the foot of your chaise lounge.

“Good. Good. Did he remember Ali?”

Hanna sat gently on the edge of your bed, and held her purse in front of her.

“Ya. He made the mask. He said Ali commissioned them.”

“What?”

Hanna nodded, and looked nervously around the room.

“There’s something else…”

Hanna reached into the depths of her large purse, and held out a bright red mask. You reached out, and flipped it over. Melissa’s face stared vacantly back.

“I found this in the back of Hector’s shop.”

You heard her speaking, but you couldn’t look anywhere but the mask you were holding. What did this mean? Where did this fit? Was Melissa also following Ali’s trail? Why would she barter with her own face? Had she also commissioned masks from Hector? What could she possibly want with them?

“I thought you would want to know.”

Hanna’s voice was hushed, and gentle. You nodded slowly, examining the mold. Your fingers running along the backs of the eyes.

“Look I know you were angry when I broke into her apartment. And I know you’re hurting even though you’re putting up a really strong front. But I’m scared Spencer. I’m scared for you.”

Your eyes met hers after several contemplative moments.

“Please be careful.”

You stood up, and walked over to the bed. You wrapped your arm around her back, and she settled her head against your shoulder. The mask was something you could actually use.

“I will.”

You rubbed her back distractedly as you formulated a plan.

  


…

  


The cool night breeze licked the small patch of exposed skin on your back as you crouched in the undergrowth on the edge of Hector Lime’s property. You sat in darkness smacking the skin on your ankles every time a rustling plant tickled your legs. Melissa had been inside the mask makers lair for more than twenty minutes. Several times you heard her voice raise but you couldn’t make out the words. Nor could you risk getting any closer. You unlocked your phone to find a missed text from Aria. She was under the impression that you had blown off your study date. You didn’t send a reply. If you told her what you were really doing she would be furious with you for not taking back up. They all would. But it was something you would have to explain away later.

You looked up and scanned the edges of the building once more. Shadows moved around inside the shop. Drawing your keen attention when those movements were accompanied with shuffling sounds, and occasionally the sharp echo of something shattering.  You reviewed the video you had taken on your phone of Melissa bustling about in your parent’s kitchen only an hour ago. She fixed her hair in the hall mirror, scrunching the sides. It bounced around her long neck as she shook it back from her face, and traced the edges of her lips with the pad of her middle finger. She glossed them, and ran over her reflection with a critical eye. Appeased with her appearance she strutted into the kitchen and slumped against the fridge reviewing it’s contents as though she hadn’t already made up her mind. Why did it hurt you to watch her retrieve a bottle of half empty chardonnay? Was it because she promised you she would stop drinking? That was absurd. Of all the lies you had a right to be angry about this wasn’t one that affected you. She was doing this to herself. But a part of you died when you watched her reach over and top off a glass she had set behind the coffee pot that was, by any reasonable persons standards, well over half full.

“Over half full,” you chuckled to yourself. And to think your friends accused you of pessimism. The video was shaky as you crept around the side of the house to get a better view of her face. Your own voice narrating as she registered her luggage sitting at the edge of the kitchen. Her eyes narrowed as she took a long pull of her wine, and set the glass down on the counter. She looked once about the room. The video jerked as you dropped lower under the edge of the patio door. Melissa’s fingers dragged along the granite countertop as she walked over to her suitcase. She appraised it’s placement for several seconds before sweeping it up off the floor and tossing it down on the couch. She paced the length of the sofa twice, eyeing the bag like she half expected the contents to combust. Her curiosity won out, as she carefully unzipped the top. She stood over the suitcase, scanning her intimates. Unsatisfied she began rummaging through her clothing, tossing her toiletry bag aside. The video recorded your smug little laugh when her fingers hit something hard under her cashmere cardigan. In full view of your camera she held up the red mask. Watching the video you took a closer look at her face, and noticed that she wasn’t merely surprised by it’s presence. She held the mask in her long fingers, running over the edges flipping it over to check for the artists signature. You realized now that she held the mask with the same surprise you had held it. It wasn’t just out of place, it was new to her. You paused the video, and shut your eyes.

“Don’t do this.”

Spoken to your own weak and foolish heart. There was no turning back from this confrontation. There was no last minute restructuring of accusations. She did exactly as you thought she would when she found the mask. She drove here with certainty as you followed close behind. She knew the way. She had been here before, at least once. She wasn’t a victim. She was no more innocent in all of this than Mona. You slid the phone in your back pocket. The slamming of the front door made you drop down on all fours in the hedgeline. The gravel drive crunched under Melissa’s heels as she dragged a large burlap sack behind her, and made her way down to the dock. You stood slowly, and walked through the brush as she stomped across the pine boards. Her back to you as you scurried out of the trees. She stood under a single steel lamp that curled up over the black motionless water and wrapped her hands around the railing. Her head falling slightly. You did not approach her right away. She was talking to herself in hushed angry tones. She recovered quickly, and reached down into the dirty brown bag she had lugged alongside her. With disgust she held a white mould of her own face up to the light. As quickly as it was retrieved she smashed it down against the corner of the railing and tossed the shards out into the water like ceramic bread crumbs. Her back bent to procure another, and another. The bag was filled with them. You stepped out onto the dock, and stood in the center.

“Hello Melissa.”

She froze with half a face still clutched in her right hand, and looked slowly over her shoulder. Her eyes squinting in the half light as she turned to face you, and pitched the remnant of the mask over her shoulder like salt.

“Spencer?”

You took several confident strides towards her.

“It was you? You put that mask in my bag?!”

She spat her words through clenched teeth. You froze.

“Believe me when I tell you I was as surprised to find that mask as you were.”

She shook her head in furious disbelief.

“Why?”

You laughed, and shook your finger at her as you took another step.

“I was just going to ask you the same thing.”

She huffed, and rolled her eyes in the exhausted way one might regard a child speaking out of turn. She didn’t answer you. She turned back to the water, and broke another mould along the edge. Scattering the pieces along the surface of the sleeping lake.

“Why did you do it Melissa?”

You couldn’t begin to count the number of times you asked that question. To her, or to yourself. You walked up behind her. You were only a few feet apart. You might as well have been on the moon for all it meant to her. She wouldn’t acknowledge your question or your approach. She was focused only on the task at hand. Enraged by her blatant refusal to engage with you, you reached out the next time she cocked her arm back to throw the busted shards and wrapped your hands around her wrist. That was your first mistake.

Melissa wheeled around, pulling her arm forward and when the shards of white released from her palm the force of her throw pulled you forward into the banister. Your right knee knocked into the corner of the rail. You caught yourself pinned between the boards, and Melissa’s rage. Your eyes went wide as she placed both hands on the boards surrounding you. Her eyes bright with fury, her hair dancing in the wind between your faces as it tickled your cheeks. She made a physical effort to restrain herself but for how long that would last you couldn’t be sure. Back up would have been a better decision.

“Listen to me you self obsessed little shit…”

Her voice dropped to a growl as she brought her face closer to yours. You tried to straighten your leg, and back, but she was too close, and you were not going to make the mistake of touching her again when she was in such a state. The result left your back bowed out over the water, her face so near that her heated breath tickled the corners of your mouth as you struggled between distancing yourself and keeping eye contact with her.

“EVERYTHING. I have done. I have done to protect you.”

You huffed, but all your prepared allegations fell to the ground as though you’d left them sitting the woods. You fought to find a rebuttal, but she was absolutely frightening. And you were not so brazen as to attempt to cloak your fear with your sharp tongue while you were sprawled beneath her. The muscles in her jaw danced as she grit her teeth, and reluctantly straightened herself. You followed suit, dusting the sleeves of your blazer as she reached down into the bag. She gripped the mask, and held it between your bodies. For a minute you thought she might smash it over your head.

“Why does Hector have a mould of your face Melissa? What were you doing here?”

The mask trembled under the force of her grip as she brought it down inches from your hand. You jumped, and crossed your arms tightly across your chest.

“I came here looking for answers. Same as you. And the price was my face. So I paid it.” The sentence was spoken softer than her previous, her jaw loosening slightly. She wasn’t looking at you anymore. She was looking out over the water towards Hector’s shop. Lost in her own memories.

“No I came here following you. I want answers from you.”

Her gaze met yours from the corner of her eye. She turned her body away from you, and leaned over the side of the rail.

“When was the last time answers made you any happier Spencer? When was the last time they gave you peace?”

She stared down into the black surface of the lake, rippling her reflection with the dusty crumblings she brushed off the edges of the wood frame.

“Ali lead me here.”

You narrowed your eyes in disbelief.

“Why were you following Ali’s trail Melissa?”

She kicked the dusty burlap bag with her foot. Satisfied that it was empty she placed her palm on the rail and turned back to you.

“I needed answers too. And you know what I found?”

You shook your head cautiously. She was getting angry again. She leaned forward slightly under the force of her words.

“Sometimes the only thing you need to know, is when to stop digging.”

Your fists clenched as she turned her back on you again, and picking up the crumpled sack she started to make her way off the dock.

“NO!”

She turned on her heel at your sudden outburst.

“You don’t get to walk away from me again! You don’t get to end this conversation!”

You stomped your foot down on the boards as you walked back up to her on trembling legs. She seemed almost amused by your little fit. She smiled her half smile. Not the teasing one. The mocking one. Her fingers ran back through her hair with a snap.

“Sure. I’m the one who walks away right? I didn’t run away from you the morning after you stayed with me in the barn Spencer. I didn’t run away from you when you took me in the bathroom. I didn’t run away the first night we were together. I was sitting on that sink waiting for you in the morning. So please! Let’s continue to act like I’m the one shutting YOU out.”

Her index finger jammed into your sternum.

Your mind reeled at the possibility that perhaps she had wanted you every bit as much as you had wanted her. Somehow that was even more terrifying  than believing your affections were one sided. Was it possible that all this time you had both been reaching out only to find yourself greeted with a slamming door, or the end of sentence still dancing on the tip of your tongue unspoken to a turned back? You found your footing after several quiet moments searching her face for tells. The most unnerving part of this conversation was that she wholeheartedly believed every word she was saying. You redirected.

“I know you were dressed as the Queen of Hearts.”

Her shoulders fell, and her hair obscured her face. Her voice grew gentle and heavy with remorse.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

She whispered it to her feet. Shadowboxing, you told yourself. That’s all she was doing. Push.

“When Melissa? When you wrapped your hands around my throat? Or was it when you tried to throw my best friend off a fucking train?!”

You moved closer as you spoke until your hands wrapped around the lapels of her jacket, and you shook her until she made eye contact with you again. She didn’t fight you when you threw her back against the railing. Now you stood with your palms on both sides of her, pinning her in place.

“I didn’t know Wilden was on the train. When I saw that he had Aria I tried to find you. To warn you. You hit me and I...I snapped.”

Tears threatened the corners of her eyes. You grit your teeth.

“There are videos of you with Ali the night she died. Why would I believe anything you have to say?”

She chuckled. It was a faint exhausted sound.

“Then why are you asking me? What do you want proof? If I had proof of anything Spencer why would I be here smashing masks of my own face in the dark?”

Your conviction was failing fast. You wanted so much for this to be the truth. That she was just as clueless as you were. That she was plagued by the same faceless villain who at every turn sought to ruin you. You dropped your arms and took a step back. You couldn’t stay pressed up against her like that. She straightened her coat.

“What did the letter say?”

She stared at you incredulously before bending down to retrieve the brown bag she had dropped. Wearily she looked back up at you.

“Let it go Spencer.”

You stepped in front of her, blocking her exit. Both of you shaking under the weight of your emotions. You shook your head slowly.

“No. You don’t know the lengths I went to find that letter for myself. I found less than nothing. The only things I dug up were forged essays you had published, and more than one damning video of your A Team involvement.”

She stepped up against the rail chucked the empty bag out across the lake, turning back towards the water to watch it flutter down against the surface. Her white knuckled fists pressing down against pine.

“Melis-”

Your voice soft. Your hand barely pressed to her shoulder before she spun around. You recoiled as she stepped up against you.

“I AM SICK WITH LOVE FOR YOU!”

She was panting. Tears standing in her large brown eyes as she clenched the fabric of her own blouse in trembling hands. Presumably to stop herself from laying hands on you again. You felt small standing in front of her anger. You felt small finally standing in the light of her love. But you did feel it. For the first time in your life you felt her love crash down over you, and it was as terrible, and hopeless, and deep, and dark, and dangerous as you’d always suspected it would be.

It was everything.

You didn’t know what to do. You hadn’t felt so young, or so out of your depth in a very long time. So you didn’t do anything. You wrapped your arms around yourself and you wept. You wept for her, and for you. You wept for all the people who were gone, and all the time you had wasted chasing ghosts. You wept because even with her love there was so much left to answer. Because even with her beside you  saying everything you had ever wanted to hear there was still so much to fear.

Slowly, hesitantly, she wrapped her arms around you. You fell forward against her, tangling your hands in her hair as you sobbed hysterically into her shoulder.

“I love you. I’m sorry. I tried not to. I tried. That’s what the letter said.”

Her voice broken under the weight of your body and her own tears as she whispered it again in your ear. You fought for each breath as she held you tighter against her. Slowly your breathing began to regulate and you pressed a single wet kiss against the skin of her neck. Her hand squeezed the back of your neck as you lifted your head, and pressed your forehead to hers. Her eyes were shut tightly like she could hide from you if she didn’t open them. You thought of the night in the woods, when she held you in her arms in the dark of her car and asked you “What else do you love?”. All this time. Both equally stubborn. You were waiting to hear the those words.

“Melissa. Look at me.”

She cleared her nose, and pushed away from you slightly. Looking up at the sky for a moment until she could stop crying. Your fingers wiped the tears from her cheeks. She took a slow deep breath and brought her face back to yours. She had never looked more helpless.

“I love you.”

A lone tear traveled down the side of your nose as you said it. She cupped your face in her hands, and pressed her lips to your forehead. She wrapped her arms tightly around your waist, and buried her face in your brown curls. Your shaky breaths fell in time with each other. You even sighed together as your bodies pressed closer, arms holding tighter. Her hand traveled to the edge your jacket. Her fingertips brushing over the base of your spine. You made no attempt to hide the moan that pushed its way through your parted lips. The breeze of it echoing in her ear. Both of you pushed apart instantly. Fighting for composure, straightening your hair and clothes. She licked her lips. You exhaled heavily.

“Take me somewhere.”

You held her right hand in yours. Turning the palm up, brushing your fingertips over her life line. She didn’t reply for what felt like an eternity.

“Come home with me.”

You tilted your chin, confused because she did not say “let’s go home.”

“Come to Philly with me. My plane leaves tomorrow afternoon. You can drive me.”

You fell back against the railing in defeat. You were so caught up in confronting her you had forgotten she was leaving in the morning.

“London.”

Your voice was small, and you looked up at her with panic in your eyes. She couldn’t leave. Not now. Not after all this.

She cupped your face in her warm hands.

“Tomorrow. I have to Spencer. I can’t pass this up.”

You nodded rapidly, but you wouldn’t look at her.

“I know.”

When your eyes finally met hers she was smiling, wide and brilliant. It was the happiest she had ever looked, and it was yours. This moment belonged to you, and nothing could lessen that unless you let it. You sniffled, and stood up. She took your hand in hers and walked back towards her car. Asking her to drop you off around the corner was awkward. There is no polite way to say I stalked you here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so anxious to get your feedback on this. Please let me know how you felt about this update. Did it move you? Was it believable? If it left you cold tell me so. Constructive feedback is welcome. The second I hit submit I'm starting chapter 11. It will be posted as No Regrets Part 3, and I will try very hard not to make you wait so long. I really hope you guys enjoyed this.


	11. No Regrets - Part 3 - Final

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear Readers,
> 
> I am so very sorry you had to wait. But the final chapter is completed. I'm excited to share it with you, and also a bit sad that this story is over. I've really enjoyed writing this piece. I've thoroughly enjoyed talking to all of you. Some through comments, some through twitter, even tumblr. This has been such a fantastic journey. I'd like to thank my lovely betas BasketballRunner32, and Adrablepancreas for their support, patience, insight, and generosity. I am truly grateful to each of you for the kudos, comments, and enthusiasm as we championed a very unlikely and unconventional ship. I hope this ending feels honest, and fulfilling.

The drive from Rosewood to Philadelphia was one you had been making for as far back as you could remember. Both your parents spent the majority of their time in the Cradle of Liberty. And in terms of popular attractions for precocious teenagers Rosewood couldn’t hold a candle to it’s decadent art galleries, breathtaking museums, and historical landmarks. In all the years of making this trip, even during your childhood with Melissa constantly poking your side or throwing paper balls in your mess of curls, you could not remember a time it had felt this long. Melissa’s black Mercedes danced across the highway, a sleek glimmer in the far left lane. You struggled to keep pace with her at 85mph. Your heart raced the length of the drive. You worried that perhaps you were making too much of what happened on the dock. There was still so much to say. So much to work through. You had hurt each other, betrayed each other, abandoned each other countless times. Saying I love you doesn’t change the past. Perhaps that was the reason she asked you to come stay with her. To try and iron some of this out. To find answers. To decide what it actually meant.  
What did it mean?  
Your stomach rolled because things were different, you felt different, but the situation was very much the same. You spent the last twenty minutes of the drive trying to imagine a life without -A.  
Melissa’s car whipped into the underground parking garage of her condo. You followed her around the bend to the second floor and pulled into the vacant space beside her. Her long legs swirled onto the asphalt, and she stood with a small stretch flipping her hair back from her face. Melissa could make filling ice trays look graceful. She leaned down, and motioned for you to roll your passenger side window down. She reached over across the passenger seat, and hung a visitors pass from your rearview mirror. The scent of her perfume washed over you, as she folded her arms overtop the door frame. She smiled your half smile, and locked eyes with you in silence. You blushed, and fumbled with your seat belt. She withdrew from the window as you rolled it up, and retrieved her suitcase from the trunk of her car.  
“Do you want to throw that in the back?” You motioned to your suv, but she shook her head.  
“I forgot something.” She released the handle, and turned on the balls of her feet towards the elevator. You lingered for a moment, watching her walk away. You told yourself you were practicing watching her leave, but the truth was you were afraid to go upstairs. You were afraid to feel anymore than you were already feeling. You had both lost so much. Sensing that you weren’t behind her, she stopped, and looked over her shoulder. She didn’t speak, or gesture to you. She just stood there, suitcase pulled up against her heel waiting. You took a deep breath, and walked up beside her.  
“You don’t have to come up Spencer. You can get in your car, and you can go home.”  
Her eyes ran along your face. She meant it. She wouldn’t hate you. But you couldn’t leave her. Maybe you just needed to hear that you were free to go. You smiled slightly, and reached out to press the up arrow. You avoided eye contact waiting for the doors to open. Both shifting your weight under the pressure of an uneasy silence. The ding of the lift’s arrival made you jump slightly. You stepped hurriedly across the threshold. The walls were half mirror, half oak paneling. Even the floor was hardwood, because of course it was. You held the door as she pulled her suitcase in behind her.  
“What floor?” The moment you said it you locked eyes with her. You should know this. But you had never been to visit. You had never been invited before now. Sisters have moving parties don’t they? Sisters lose two hours in Crate & Barrel helping pick out the perfect coffee table. Did she have a coffee table? How many bedrooms? Melissa reached over and pressed the number 6. It was the top floor. You wondered if there was a view. Which window was her favorite? Did she have access to the roof? Would it be strange to ask her these things? You imagined it would. Your skin hummed at her close proximity. And like always it did not seem like the time to talk. But when would be the time? Would there ever be a time? No. Probably not. You started talking anyway.  
“How long have you had this place?”  
She tilted her head slightly in thought, and glared at you for a moment.  
“Year. Year and a half maybe.”  
You could see the gears turning in her mind.  
“Are you going to sublet? Six months is a long time to pay from something you’re not using. It is six months isn’t it?”  
Melissa tapped her thumb on the handle of her suitcase, and turned her body to face you. Her shoulder against the mirrored wall, so that there were two skeptical faces staring back at you.  
“No. Mom agreed to check in while I’m gone. Besides, it’s paid for.”  
You nodded, feigning interest, but you could not stop yourself.  
“Paid for, really? Wow. Good for you.”  
Melissa dropped her chin and stepped in front of you.  
“What are you doing?”  
You shrugged, and wondered why she was getting upset. You had meant it. Good for her. She was young, successful, she owned something.  
“I was just making conversation.”  
She ran a hand back through her hair and stepped to your left side, falling slightly against the glass. The elevator settled against the 6th floor. You stepped out first, and waited for her. It was a long straight hallway, with dim sconces, and fake flowers on prop tables every couple hundred feet. You didn’t know which way to go. You should know these things. Melissa did not move, she just stood beside you, staring into your face as you waited for her direction.  
“What do you want Spencer? Mom and Dad bought it. Ok? Is that what you wanted?”  
Her hostility caught you off guard. Of course they had purchased the condo. You were certain of their involvement the moment you caught sight of the gorgeous brownstone. Why was she suddenly so defensive?  
“Melissa I wasn’t passing judgement, or trying to trap you into giving something away.”  
You kept your hands upturned in supplication. You were suddenly very afraid that you had grieved her in some way. That you were ruining everything. That she was moments from asking you to leave.  
“Then why are you giving me the third degree?”  
She dropped the suitcase handle and crossed her arms. She was visibly agitated. You stared down the long hallway to your right, avoiding her eyes while you fought to understand your own actions. You were not a person who feels pressured to fill silence with dialogue. You grew up between the card catalogue and the history section of the Rosewood Public Library. You grew up abandoned in a gorgeous but empty home. Silence was something with which you were intimately familiar. Something you had come to value with age. You had never been one for small talk so why were you making it now of all times? Hesitantly you met her stare. She softened before you began to speak when she saw the fear behind your eyes.  
“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.’’  
You voice caught for a moment, but you recovered. Clasping your hands firmly in front of you to keep them still. It was genuine. You hoped she could hear it, and be satisfied. She gestured to your left with her house key.  
“This way.”  
Melissa stepped to your right, and lead the short hike down her absurdly long hall. She stopped in front the door marked Forty Seven, and slid her key into the lock. Her’s was the only door in the hall without a welcome mat. Melissa stepped into the darkened entry way, and rolled her suitcase inside. There was a moment before her palm skimmed the wall for the lightswitch when all you could see was the back of her reaching into a great unknown. The moment was like something from a dream. The outline of her shining in the dark. Her scent filled the apartment, and swirled around your head. No Ian, no Wren, and unlike the barn no faint traces of dust, or mildew. No warped rotting wood. There are certain scents that will always take you back in time. The smell of the apartment was exactly the smell of Melissa’s bedroom at your parents house. But bright, and sharp as it had been when she still filled that space. You remembered the night she found you in her room wearing the white dress. You wanted to press yourself against her back, and wrap your arms around her the same way she held you that night. You wanted to whisper in her ear that she was beautiful.  
The flip of the light broke your reverie. She turned with a flutter of her soft hair, and faced you. You were still standing on the threshold, as though it were some sort of roped exhibitline you were not permitted to cross. She dragged her palms against her thighs twice, and reached for you. It was better than a verbal invitation. You laid your palm in her upturned hand. Her skin soft, just slightly damp from nerves as her fingers closed around you, and pulled you inside. Almost like dancing as she moved beside you and shut the door. The lock settling made your heart jump. You held her hand tighter.  
“It’s strange.”  
Melissa stopped in the entryway, looking down at your clasped hands. You were still wearing your coat, standing only three feet from her door. Your heart raced.  
“What?”  
She looked over her shoulder in your direction, but she stared right through you. She shrugged small, and dismissive.  
“Having you here. It’s….more than I anticipated.”  
Melissa’s own words woke her, and she was looking into your eyes now. You were safe. She didn’t want you to leave. You knew what she meant. It was overwhelming being surrounded by her. You could imagine the intrusion that your presence was in her well kept corner of the world.  
The hall opened up to the living room, a small clean kitchen in the back left corner, and the right wall opened to the bedroom. You kept your eyes front, fixed on the long dark windows that lined the far wall. You couldn’t look at her bedroom. It felt either too intimate or too soon. You averted your eyes like you did in the locker room while the other girls changed for gym. Melissa reached down and flipped on a long thin steel lamp. You let go of her hand and walked to the center of her living room. The decor was almost exactly the same as the barn with one exception. The apartment was far more sterile. Perhaps the exposed wood of the barn, the old floors, the chipping paint around the window sills cast a softer glow on her tastes and possessions. This looked like something from a magazine. The leather couch was low and perfectly rectangular. The cushions sat high and firm on the frame as though it had never been used. There was an oak desk on the far side of the couch that held a power source for a laptop, a blank legal pad, and a single pen. No pictures. The short square coffee table in the center of the room had the most recent issues of The Economist, The New Yorker, and W arranged in a fan in the center. But the spines were straight, and the covers were flat to suggest she hadn’t read a single one. Your eyes stayed fixed on the magazines as you walked around the coffee table, and sat gently down on the edge of the sofa. Melissa seemed no more comfortable than you. She stood debating whether or not to sit before deciding to retrieve her luggage from the hall and wheel it into her bedroom. The door shut firmly behind her, and you were grateful for a moment alone to collect yourself. There was a small plain two seater dining room table just on the other side of the kitchen. It was dressed for dinner. Placemats down, wine glasses out, dark red napkins in silver rings atop the china. You doubted very much that she had ever taken a meal there. You looked back down at the magazines, and you wondered. Perhaps Melissa was not the perfect daughter. Your thumb grazed the edge of The Economist, straightening it’s placement on the coffee table. Maybe all she did was dress the part. You thought about the forged term papers you had discovered on -A’s laptop. She was not a prodigy as you had been led to believe. She was flawed, she was no smarter than you were, she was still living off your parent’s generosity, and all of her pretty things seemed nothing more than window dressing.  
“She has spent her whole life pretending,” you whispered to the pages of the magazines she hadn’t read. You wondered what that must feel like. A part of you knew, but not to the extent that she did. You had always been somewhat of a disappointment because you were born genuine, and disenchanted. You had never been interested in the trappings of wealth because you knew how empty they were. And your parents never really forgave you for being underwhelmed with their achievements. You didn’t believe Melissa had forgiven you for it either. You were so wrapped up in your own musings you hadn’t seen her approach, and it startled you when the couch gave way under her weight.  
“Were the covers that enthralling?  
There was levity in Melissa’s voice, but you weren’t registering what she was saying. Your face was puzzled.  
“What?”  
Melissa smiled slightly, and gestured to the magazines. You laughed a little at yourself, and sat up straighter.  
“No I was just thinking.”  
Melissa and nodded and waited for you to elaborate, but you weren’t going to do that. You wondered where her pictures were. The barn walls were covered with her photography, but there wasn’t so much as a polaroid in this living room. You doubted she kept all her work in the barn. The only decorations on the walls were a magnificent though very depressing recreation of Edward Hopper’s Morning Sun, and a series of framed Rorschach tests. The apartment was unsettling. Maybe that was the point.  
“What are you thinking?”  
Melissa reached over, and brushed your hair back behind your shoulder. You thought of how to frame your words so they did not sound like an accusation.  
“This place…”you paused, hoping Melissa would jump in and finish the sentence for you. She didn’t. She tucked her hands folded in her lap, and she waited.  
“The barn just seems more...you maybe?” You turned just a couple inches towards her. She nodded twice, and sighed.  
“I guess I just never really settled here. Mom took me out to dinner after my promotion at Goldman and Sons. Told me how proud she was, and drove me here afterwards. She said I needed something closer to work. Most of my things were already moved in.”  
Her chin was firm and resentful as she spoke. Her eyes scanning her own baren walls. She looked so overwhelmed. You moved closer to her, and you took her hand in yours. She held it tightly, and gave you that defeated smile you knew so well. Your heart bled for her. The thought of her coming home so many nights to this whitewashed calling card. This decadent, sterile reception hall for your mother’s pride. She was just a woman who hadn’t learned how to say no to her parents. So she kept saying yes, please, thank you, I’m honored, I would be happy to…  
“Can I ask you something?” This time it was you who reached out, and brushed Melissa’s hair back behind her ear before setting it back down on her thigh. You felt her body lean into your touch, and you struggled to keep pace with your own speeding thoughts.  
“Yes.” She turned, and her right knee pressed up against your left. She looked into your eyes, and she took your hand again.  
“You can ask me anything.” She brought the back of your hand to the side of her face, and your eyes shut briefly when she brushed her lips across the skin of your knuckles. Your heart was pounding, you were sure she could feel your pulse pounding in your wrist because she smiled slightly when she closed her fingertips around it.  
“What do you want Melissa?”  
You fully expected her to become defensive. But she just stared at you as though the question was unfinished.  
“What do I want with what?” Her eyes narrowed as she sought to understand a question you were certain she had never been asked. Or had ever asked herself.  
“Not with what. Just in life I suppose.”  
She wasn’t angry. But the question did upset her, as you feared it might. It was a big question. She released your hand, and tilted her head. She sat thinking for a while, rubbing her own hands together nervously. She shrugged before she answered.  
“I have a good job. Nice apartment. Car. I want for nothing.”  
Her eyes were neither sad, nor happy when she looked at you again. They were wide, blank. You wondered if this was a young thing to do. To ask a question like that. It was true, she wanted for nothing. But asking her what she dreamed for her life was going to sound like an accusation.  
“No I know that. I know you have everything you need. I was wondering if you…” Melissa’s hand came to rest on the inside of your thigh as she turned back to face you. You felt the blush blooming in your cheeks. Her eyes were dark, and she was flustered by your questions, but not aggravated. She leaned forward and pressed her lips against your jaw moving back towards your ear. When she breathed your name you shivered, and grabbed her shoulder. You made no attempt to hide it, and it earned you a low throaty chuckle against your skin. She wrapped her hand around your neck, and pulled your face to hers.  
“I don’t want to talk anymore.”  
Her face was serious, her eyes flicked down to your lips. Her mouth was open, you could feel her breath over your lips.  
“Ok.” You were still nodding when her tongue flicked against your mouth. You froze when you felt her rise. Your hands wrapping around her back as she settled down in your lap, her legs folded on either side of you. Still not closing her mouth over yours. She ran both her hands through your hair, and pulled your head back while she stared down at you. She had never looked less put together than she did now. You were equally undone. Her eyes glassed over as she ran her fingers over your eyebrows and down the bridge of your nose. You pulled at the hem of her shirt, and ran your hands over the smooth skin of her back. Melissa fell forward against you, and moaned into the skin of your neck. Your bodies shook with every touch, with the anticipation of touch. Her hands came to rest at the front of your jeans, and inched their way slowly up the front of your blouse. She lifted her head, and stared into your eyes as her fingers stroked your sides. You stared back, and whimpered unabashedly when the pad of her middle finger swirled once around the skin of your navel.  
“Tell me again.”  
It was a plea whispered so softly into your waiting mouth that you weren’t certain if you heard her, or just felt the words tapping like morse code across your teeth. You pulled back to see standing tears in her dark eyes. In all honesty you didn’t know how you hadn’t told her a million times already. You couldn’t remember why you spent so much time trying to punish each other. But you were certain that none of it mattered anymore, if it had ever mattered at all. You cupped her face in your hands, and she began to cry. Her tears running down her chin, and staining your cheeks, as you brought her mouth to yours.  
“I love you.”  
You barely had time to utter the words she so desperately needed to hear before she wrapped her hand around the back of your head, and fixed her mouth to yours. It was a famished, exhausting kiss that left you breathless as she continued to sob quietly into your mouth. You fought the keep up with her, but whatever emptiness lived inside of her was reaching for you. You only hoped you could be enough tonight to fill that hole and keep some semblance of self.  
Melissa pressed herself firmly against the front of you. Her hands pulling at your blouse. You felt her hips begin to roll and push against yours. But the weight of her against your legs was causing your freshly injured knee to ache. You wrapped your arms around her waist and pulled her body closer, hoping to take some of the pressure away. The movement floored her, and she rocked forcefully against you. You couldn’t stop the sharp intake of breath it caused, and Melissa pulled back abruptly when she felt it.  
“Did I hurt you?”  
Her eyes were large and swollen with her earlier tears. They were filled with genuine concern as she panted only inches from your lips. Her hands held your face softly as she stroked the skin of your cheekbones with her thumbs.  
“I’m sorry it’s my knee.”  
Melissa looked down for a moment, and shuffled quickly off your lap. She sat beside you, the length of your bodies still touching. Arm to arm. Thigh to thigh.  
“What happened to your knee? Was it field hockey? I told Dad to stop pushing you. That sport is too violent Spencer”  
Spoken with a huff of disapproval, and a protectiveness she had never outwardly shown. Let alone put into words.  
“No it wasn’t that. I knocked it against the post at the dock when you…”  
You stopped rubbing your aching knee, and took her hand. She remembered. And she stared straight ahead. Her mouth in a tight bitter line.  
“Melissa it’s fine. I’m fine. The position just...made it sore.”  
Tears clung at the edges of her lids but didn’t fall. For ages she said nothing at all. Her jaw was clenched angrily when she finally broke the silence.  
“There are so many things Spencer.”  
She shook her head at herself, and cupped your hand in hers. She tightened her grip on it, and you could feel the anger coursing through her blood. Beating in her palms like a second heart.  
“So many things that I regret. That I would undo if I could.”  
You shook your head now, and you turned her face towards yours. She looked in your eyes and you could see an emotion you knew well. She wasn’t angry. She hated herself. You pressed your forehead to hers.  
“Melissa don’t.”  
“I would never hurt you. Do you know that? You can’t know that. Because every move I’ve made. Every decision. Every step I took to protect you they all wounded you in the end. Somehow. Over and over again. And I could see it happening Spencer! I could see it. But it was always too late.”  
She laid her palm flat against the skin of your breast through the opening of your shirt. It covered your racing heart. You felt your own lips tremble when she pulled her forehead back from yours, and kissed the top of your head. How many times had you wanted to say exactly that? And not just to Melissa. To everyone. To Toby. You knew exactly what she was feeling. You lived with it every day. And you would live with the pain of this moment for the rest of your life. Because this was the woman you would have pinned it on. The whole -A team mess. In your mind you made her the ring leader. You had convinced yourself she was the villian, because you could not handle loving her as deeply, and as hopelessly as you did. Because you were a coward. All those years you spent trying to hate each other. And the truth was she was as lost as you were. You regretted it. But at the same time you knew yourself, and you knew Melissa. Neither one of you would buckle under anything less than excruciating pain. Neither one would call truce, until someone was screaming defeat. And she did. She screamed it on the dock, in the middle of the night, on the edge of town, with no towers to ascend, no possible plays, nowhere to run. And this moment wasn’t possible without everything that came before it.  
You stood up slowly, and looked down at her. Your face serene as you pulled slightly on her hand. She was nervous when she stood beside you, and you had to tug her gently along to follow. The scent of her hit you all over again when you opened the door to her bedroom. It rushed inside of you. Overpowering and perfect. The bed sat on a high oak frame that had belonged to your parents several remodelings ago. The nightstand, and the dresser matched. The dark wood gleamed in the soft glow emanating from the light she had left on in the master bathroom. You were glad for it. Because you wanted to see everything. Remember everything. You let go of her hand, and walked up to her bed. You turned around as she shut the door, and locked it. Reflex more than anything else. There was a large window on the wall opposite the bed, the shade was already drawn, and you felt the corner of your mouth quirk in a small smile. Melissa was still standing with her spine pressed against the door when the back of your legs hit the bed. Your eyes locked in the half light. A shiver ran through her when you began to unbutton your blouse, but she stayed where she was. She never let go of your eyes. You shrugged the shirt from your shoulders, and tossed it on the floor in front of you. She leaned up away from the door, and took a hesitant step in your direction. You undid the button of your jeans, and she closed the gap between you with rushed steps. She wrapped her hands around yours to stop them. Melissa lowered them back to your sides. For a moment, she merely looked at you. And though she had seen you several times in various states of undress it felt new. Different. Perhaps because neither one of you wore mask or motive this time. She pushed your hair back off your shoulders, and she kissed along them gently. Her lips brushing over your collarbone as her hands came to rest one on the small of your back, and the other between your shoulder blades. She pulled you against her, and dragged her mouth up the side of your neck. The tip of her nose flicked your earlobe, and you wrapped your arms around her waist content to wait for what came next. But she pulled away slightly and looked over your torso. She remained quiet, and slightly fearful. You placed a finger under her chin, and brought it level with yours. She met your eyes.  
“I regret nothing.”  
The moment you said it Melissa wrapped her fist in your hair, and kissed you in a way that was neither famished, nor desperate. She kissed you deeply, and roughly, and gratefully. She kissed you with more passion than you thought could exist between two people. She kissed you until you forgot that you were two people. The hand that wrapped in your hair slowly trailed down your back, and around the side of you until it rested on the front of your pants. Her hand found you through the covering of your jeans, and you gasped in surprise at the contact. She chuckled softly into your mouth, and curled her tongue as she pulled away. Flicking your top lip in the process. You grabbed her by the shirt when you felt her pull back, but she shrugged you away. She kissed your chin, the middle of your throat, the soft skin between your breast, and then she knelt in front of you. Her fingers hooked in the waist of your jeans as she swirled her tongue around your navel, and you wondered if it was possible to die from what you were feeling as you tangled your hands in her hair. She looked up at you without breaking contact as she kissed the skin at the top of your underwear and you thought you might collapse when you felt her pull the denim down midthigh. She kissed her way down your legs as she helped you out of your jeans, and tossed them on the floor beside her as you stepped quickly out of your socks. Her hand pressed against the top of your stomach telling you to sit down. You didn’t hesitate. You weren’t sure you could stand much longer. Her fingertips danced lightly up the backs of your calves as she settled between your parted legs. She lifted her head, and she held your injured knee carefully in her hands. The bruise was going to be a bad one. The skin on the top of your kneecap was already raised in an angry black line. Melissa stared at it for a moment, and kissed around the bruising flesh so gently you thought you might cry. When she finished, she turned her attention to your left thigh. To the faint raised scars she discovered on the bathroom floor so long ago. She kissed them again less softly this time, and without hesitation. Letting her tongue smooth over the ridges. You closed your eyes, and let your head fall back. You weren’t ashamed of them anymore. They were a part of you. They were a choice you made. And she loved them, like she loved all the broken parts of you. When you opened your eyes she was standing. She lifted her shirt up over her head, and threw it over her shoulder. You sat up straighter, and pulled her body against you. Your hands on her hips as you laid your cheek against the skin of her stomach, and let out a shaky exhale. She wrapped one arm around your shoulder, and ran her fingers through your hair with the other. You didn’t want to rush this. You didn’t know when you would feel her skin against yours again. As if she could read your thoughts Melissa curled her hand under your chin, and bent down to kiss you softly. Slowly. Your mouth quivered involuntarily when her tongue pushed it’s way past your teeth. She pulled back, and straightened. Her hand still wrapped under your chin.  
“Are you ok?”  
You nodded, and took a deep fortifying breath.  
“Do you want me to stop?”  
Rather than answer you stood up against her. Your torso pressed to hers. Pinned between her body and the bed. Your fingertips danced lightly along the skin of her shoulders, dragging her bra straps down around her arms. She wrapped her arms around your back, and her short blunt nails dug into your sides as you kissed her neck. The skin beneath her hair slightly salty was unmistakably Melissa. Most of her perfume had left her earlier in the day, and you relished the opportunity to taste her without the soapy tinge of store bought scents to taint your tongue. You kissed up the side of her neck sucking roughly on her pulsepoint. Hoping to leave marks. Wanting to leave the memory of your touch tattooed on her body. She wrapped her hand around the back of your head and pressed you harder against her, giggling softly when your teeth traced the lobe of her ear. You pulled away to look into her eyes while your fingers made quick work of her bra clasp. Her big brown eyes almost black, her chest heaving, mouth open. More than all the parts that told you how desperately she wanted you, it was the slight smile at the corner of her lips, the playfulness in those big heavy eyes that truly took your breath away as you pulled the bra from her, and let it fall between you. The last time you were together had been so painful. And the time before, and before that. You felt so light looking at her now. Your hands trailed down her back, pressing her closer as you slipped them down into her pants pushing the stiff fabric down her legs. She grabbed your elbow, keeping you level with her as she kicked them off the rest of the way. Her hand overtop yours, moving it to the front of her waist, up the side of her stomach, over the top of her exposed breast. The struggle to keep a slow pace building into a battle as you circled her pert nipple with your thumb and she trembled in your arms. Always in sync when words were not involved, Melissa ripped your bra off hastily, and cupped you with shaky hands. You both laughed a little swimming in the light headed revelry that is undiluted desire. You wrapped your arms around one another tightly, and held each other swaying gently in the embrace. You nuzzled your face in her neck, and if you could have stayed like that forever you would. If you died suddenly in her arms, that would be fine with you.  
“Tell me again.”  
You whispered it breathless in her ear. Melissa leaned back, and held your face in both her hands. She kissed you forcefully, and your mouth opened to receive her. But she didn’t fill it with the words you asked her to repeat. The kiss raged on, her hands gripping, and pulling at your body, before she stopped abruptly. Stepping away from you. Confused, you took a step towards her, but she climbed up on the bed, and crawled across the expanse. Sitting with her shoulders propped up on the head board. Her legs spread. She didn’t say anything, she just waited. It wounded you a little that she didn’t say it again, but you didn’t have to hear the words to know that it was true. Not anymore. You crawled over the top of the bed, kissing your way up the length of her. You started with the porcelain skin of her ankles, and moved up her calf, you kissed the top of her knee, and back down the inside of her thigh. Melissa watched you intently, silently, as you trailed your mouth up the side of her stomach, laying down between her legs. You closed your mouth over her breast, and she curled her fingers in your hair, and leaned up against you. You left another mark on the soft thin skin of her collarbone, dragging your short nails up the ridges of her ribs. She pulled your mouth aggressively against hers, and claimed it with her tongue. But once again she stopped abruptly, and this time, she stared deeply into your eyes. Her eyes moving back and forth quickly, as though she was for whatever reason apprehensive or afraid.  
“What is it?”  
You placed your hands on the mattress and leaned up to look at her. She kissed you gently, just once. A long, slow, lingering kiss that startled you with it’s vulnerability. Her hands on your face, trailed down the sides of your neck, and gently down to the tops of your shoulders. You half expected her to push you away she looked so serious, but she didn’t. Ever so slightly you felt her palms pressing you down, and suddenly you were the nervous one. Nervous, and cautious, but also astounded. You lowered yourself down on your elbows, as she kept the pressure lightly, and wordlessly ushering you down the length of her body until you settled between her thighs. You stared up at her warily and kissed the skin of her stomach again, your tongue pushing gently under the thin band of her black underwear. She released your shoulders, and she held your left hand firmly in her right. You squeezed her hand needing something more. Some irrefutable sign that she wanted what you thought she was asking you for. You had been down this road before. And you would go down it again for her, but it killed you every time she pushed you away. Melissa still refused to speak, but she moved her shoulders down off the headboard, and onto the pillows. It was a signal, but you were understandably very afraid of disappointing her, or worse upsetting her. Even with her eyes closed she knew. She could feel the fear radiating from you without seeing your face, and she squeezed your hand again and let it go. You pushed yourself down further, and kissed the inside of her right thigh. You turned your head, and sucked on the skin of her left eliciting a small giggle from her stiff frame. Her legs shaking you hooked your fingers around her underwear, and kissed the hollow of her hip. Her hand running quickly over the back of your head as she lifted her hips and you pulled the soft silk down her legs. You settled back down between her bare body, and her legs bowed up at the knee around your head as she pushed herself slightly lower on the bed. You shook away your own fear, and kissed your way back down her thigh projecting a certainty and calmness in your touch you could not come close to feeling in your heart. You placed a single kiss on the center of her, and she tensed for a moment. You waited, your mouth open. Breathing your hot panicked breath over her newly exposed skin until you saw her hips raise just barely to meet you. Her right hand found your left again as your mouth hovered over her, and she squeezed it hard, and impatient. Maybe it was the tightness of her body, maybe it was the way she squeezed your hand, maybe it was how firmly she shut her eyes, or the way her head turned away from you, but suddenly you saw it.  
It was about surrender.  
You thought of the night you spent with her in the barn.  
“I know why you wouldn’t kiss me. It would have felt so much like defeat.”  
Melissa never relinquished control to anyone. She was never powerless, or fragile save a few rare glimpses she had shared with you. And though you didn’t personally feel like her going down on you left you exposed, or made you weak. You could see now that was exactly what this felt like to her. She had been telling you the truth all along. It wasn’t about you.  
“Spencer…”  
Your name was whispered plea on her lips as you dragged your tongue through the heat of her. Her body melting around you, for you, under you as you pushed your way inside. It was only a matter of moments before her hips began to match your movements, and her back began to arch as she pressed herself against you. You closed your eyes, and there was nothing but her. All the world was her ragged breath, and her grip on your hand. Your grip on her thigh, and the sound the mattress made under the pressing of her heels. When your mouth finally closed around her she released your hand, and the sound she made was unlike anything you had ever heard. She tangled her hands in your hair as her back lifted from the bed, and you felt her body forfeit every care, every worry she had ever carried. If only for a moment of weightless peace. You kept your pace until the tremors of her release subsided, and her legs stilled. You looked up over the length of her, and you could see that her eyes were open staring at the ceiling as she fought to regulate her breathing. The tops of her breasts, and chest kissed slightly with sweat. Her hands tugged your hair softly as she looked down at you. And when you lifted up Melissa pulled you by the biceps up over her body until you were laying atop her, covering her body with yours, and smiling contentedly in the damp hair against the side of her neck. She wrapped her arms around your back, and held you firmly against her as the last remaining ripples of pleasure shook in her chest. She brought her right hand up to the side of your face holding you in place, but she still wouldn’t look at you. Her eyes fixed on the far wall as she ran her trembling fingers through your mess of curls. You leaned up on your right arm.  
“Melissa.”  
Slowly she turned her head towards you, and the look in her eyes was something you’ll never forget. There was no fear, no sadness, no uncertainty, only awe. She licked her lips and smiled at herself before placing her palm on your cheek and pulling your mouth to hers.  
“I love you.”  
You held her tighter, and kissed her deeply, before pulling back to stare into her eyes once more.  
“I know.”  
You slid down from her shoulder and laid your head on her chest. Her heart hammering softly against your ear as her pulse slowed. She kept one hand on your hair, and the other wrapped firmly around your shoulders. Would it ruin everything if you stayed like this? If you never left this moment? You thought briefly of your friends. And of your parents. Before pushing their expectant faces to the furthest recesses of your mind. You kissed the skin of her breast, and wrapped your arms around her. You would not think of obligations at a time like this. Melissa hummed in satisfaction as she felt your body relax around hers, and wrapped the hair obscuring your face back around your ear. The light from the bathroom glared against the glass of a picture on her dresser, and made you squint after the dark shade your heavy brown locks provided. You leaned up on your elbow, and the glare fell in a stream across the tangled bed clothes. It was a strange picture. The only one in the room. And it’s composition consisted so much of shadow that the image itself was hard to make out at first. Melissa trailed her fingertips along the notches of your spine, but did not speak. You could feel her eyes patiently grooming over your face. The shot was a side profile, only distinguishable by the clean lines of the jaw, and strong slope of the nose. Expressionless, and dark, the lips barely parted over a shoulder. The longer you starred, the more familiar it became. Blurs, and spots of lights that made up the background at first seemed like sparkles when clearly it was the surface of water.  
“It’s you.”  
You turned abruptly from the portrait, and stared down at her.  
“When did you…”  
Melissa smiled and lifted herself into a sitting position, her legs in a diamond around your hips.  
“I took it at the lake house. From our bedroom window. Even with the pane lifted, and a 300mm lens the shot was next to impossible. You were so far away. But I wanted a memory of how you looked that day. Laying in the sun on the dock.”  
You understood. You wished you had a picture of her that day, standing on the edge of the lawn. The single step she made in your direction.  
“I can’t believe I forgot to pack it.”  
Melissa chided herself and huffed a breath in frustration. That was the item she’d forgotten to pack.  
Your breath caught in your throat and you turned back to the portrait, and you could almost make out your eyes. Again you thought of that day, and the night that followed. The screaming match in the woods, and silence afterwards. The fights. The slammed doors, and spiteful words. Necessary or not to get to where you finally were - together, the length still felt like so much waste. It was made all the more acute by Melissa’s swift approaching flight.  
“What are you thinking?”  
She ran her fingers over your brows, soothing the budding tension in your face. You smiled, and sat up running your hands over the legs she wrapped around you.  
“Wasted time.”  
Melissa’s eyes widened, and she nodded knowingly.  
“I thought you didn’t have any regrets.”  
Spoken like a challenge, or a gentle taunt that earned her the reluctant smile she was after. Melissa placed a her palm against your sternum and pushed you backwards against the bed.  
“I haven’t. I don’t believe in them.”  
You bluffed and pulled her by the forearms down around you. She giggled at your surly demeanor, and ran her fingers over your parted lips. She looked over her shoulder at the picture, and then back to your face.  
“I would take pictures.”  
She offered it nonchalantly and placed a soft kiss to your bottom lip.  
“What?”  
Your brow furrowed, and your head tilted at the abrupt statement and it’s sudden delivery.  
“You asked me what I wanted out of life. If I could do anything I would do that.”  
You tucked the hair that tickled your cheeks back around her ear, and kissed her again. Deeper this time. Your own impatience for her teasingly light touches showing in the forceful way you fixed her mouth to yours. You were eager, but the moment was rare, and you appreciated that she trusted you enough to tell you the truth. You broke away with some difficulty, and kissed the tip of her nose sweetly.  
“Why don’t you?”  
Melissa smiled at the question, and leaned up beside you on, tracing shapes against the skin of your ribs.  
“Comfort complicates things I suppose.”  
She leaned over you, and traced the lines of your jaw, and chin with her teeth. Her hand sliding down your abdomen as she squeezed harshly on the inside of your thigh. She pulled her head away again, enjoying the game of quid pro quo and the effect her start and stop was having your fidgeting frame.  
“What would you do? If you could do anything?”  
Melissa arched her brow, and nuzzled your ear with her nose. It was too vast a question for you to answer in the state you were in. You could only think of her. Was that so different from any other time? She took your silence as a victory, and placed her palm gently over the heat of you. Her own hunger for you making her hasty as she covered your mouth with hers and kissed you greedily. Her hand holding you firmly, as she pulled away to kiss your neck. Sucking on the skin below your ear, as your body moved beneath her. When she pulled away to bring her mouth back to yours you caught her face firmly in your hands, and stopped her. Her face locked in place, hovering over yours. Your lips almost touching, as you looked up at her, frightened by the strength of your own emotions. And when you spoke it was a whisper, the breath of your words tickling the corners of her mouth.  
“I would never leave this moment.”  
You knew it was true the second the admission left you. So honest, you were almost embarrassed. And the fear of what she would or would not say drew one tear from the corner of your eye down the side of your temple. Melissa brought her hand up, and quickly brushed it away with her thumb. She shook her head in a way that looked almost as panicked as you felt.  
“Neither would I.”  
You crushed her body down against yours, and kissed her again. You filled her with all the love that was yours to give, and she met you panting and exhausted. Breath for breath, and pull for pull. She laid her thigh against the center of you, and pressed herself firmly to the spot. You mumbled, and writhed under her touch as she palmed your breasts, and dragged her mouth over the hot skin of your throat. Your nails dug into the skin of her back as she rocked into you, and whispered your name into your hair. She lifted suddenly, and dragged her hand down your body looking intently in your dark eyes as she entered you. She wasn’t teasing any longer. And the sound she made when she filled you made you wonder who needed this more. But it wasn’t enough. You raised your left leg, and planted your foot firmly on the bed. Curled your fingers around her bicep, and pushed down against her. Melissa raised herself, and put her thigh back behind her hand. The moan the movement elicited stunned you both with it’s volume, and for the first time it was Melissa who blushed and looked away. You wrapped a fist in her hair, and pulled her face back to yours.  
“Stay with me.”  
She recognized the words as belonging to her, and her eyes did not leave yours again. Not until you shut them against the rush that pulled you up to meet her, and left you unable to so much as whimper her name.  
The night stretched on that way until the first of the streetlights began to fade with the purple promise of dawn. You didn’t sleep that night. You didn’t want to lose a minute of remembering to dreams as Melissa slumbered gently on your chest. How long would this sense of peace last? Would you carry it out of here with you? Would it board the flight with her? You couldn’t know. But something told you that it wasn’t as transitory a feeling as it had been in the past. You tucked the sheet around her back when the first streams of light slithered from between the blinds. As though morning could not come so long as she slept peacefully curled around you.  
But morning did come. Harsh, and brilliant as ever. Ushered into reality by the shrill scream of her alarm clock, which she silenced with a few choice words, and the banging of her fist. You wondered in the seconds it took her to roll over if she would be up and about immediately, and leave you cold, and unattended in the bed you shared. But it was quite the opposite. She moaned, a sad embittered little sound until she laid her head back down against your chest, and pulled her arms tight around the sides of you. You smiled into the top of her hair, and she smiled into your skin.  
“Did you sleep?”  
You kissed her crown, and wrapped your arms around her shoulders.  
“A little.”  
“Liar.” She swatted playfully at your arm. When she did surrender to the calling of a new day, it was with you in tow. And flight or no flight you stayed in the shower with her until the water ran cold, and forced you both to face the world.  
You left Melissa in the bathroom to finish putting on her face, and pulled your hair into a messy ponytail by the dresser mirror. You held the photo of she took of you at the cabin in your hands sitting on the edge of her bed until the rattle of her hair dryer shut off, and the only sound was your quick panicked breath. How were you expected to do this? To let her go. To stand up, and put her on a plane. To go back to the train wreck that was your life, as if nothing had happened. When in reality nothing would ever be the same. You unzipped the suitcase that sat beside you, and tucked your photo behind the mesh pocket, and elastic band that fixed her items in place.  
“Spencer?”  
Your name bounced loudly off the ceramic tiles of her bathroom walls, and you stood up slow, downtrodden with worry and fatigue.  
“Could you grab my long gray coat from the closet?”  
You walked over to her wardrobe, and pulled the doors wide. You knew the one. It was knee length, and tailored, with thick black shell buttons that remained onyx until the light hit them and they shimmered like dark rainbows. But Melissa had so many clothes. And so many coats!You laughed in spite of your mood as you shouldered her shirts and dresses aside to pull from it’s depths the one she desired. You held it out in front of you as she exited the bathroom in a flurry of “to dos”, hooking her black pumps around her heels as she knocked her hips into the furniture. You laid it down on the bed, as she fumbled with her earrings, and rooted through her jewelry box for a necklace that said “I am an adult, and I am worthy of this opportunity.”  
“Did you pack the picture?”  
She turned towards you with a brilliant smile, that warmed your heart. You shrugged.  
“Of course.”  
She smiled wider, and rushed over to where you stood.  
“Thank you.”  
She pressed her lips sweetly against yours, and retreated with haste back to the bathroom to fasten her carefully selected necklace around her throat. You said ‘you’re welcome’ to her back. Turning back towards the closet, you wrapped your hands around the doors to shut all her pretty things away. But not before a glint of white fabric caught your eye. You shouldered her weighty possessions back in the opposite direction, and fell back against the wall of them with heavy sigh. Hanging gracefully before you was the white dress. Bright, and flawless as it had been when you first pulled it up around your skinny frame. Your arms outstretched to receive it like a small child, like some holy relic. You straightened and pulled it towards you by the waistline, inspecting the sides with gentle fingers looking for the tear. But as she promised in the barn, Melissa had it expertly repaired. You brought the soft fabric to your face, and pressed your cheek against it. She had kept it. And though she had worn it only once to your knowledge it meant enough to her to keep around. You straightened, and trailed your fingers reverently around the the silver beading around the neck lost in your own memories, until you felt two strong arms wrap around your waist.  
“I told you I’d have it mended.”  
Melissa kissed the side of your neck softly, and then the shell of your ear.  
“You should take it with you.”  
Her arms pulled the back of you firmly against the front of her. And your heart swelled at the gesture, as well as her touch. You shook your head only once. You felt her arms loosen, and her body tense as you turned in her embrace. You didn’t hide the tears that ran down your cheeks. Melissa didn’t mask her concern as she kissed you. You placed your hand against the back of her head, and smiled against her lips. When the kiss ended, you wrapped your arms around her again, and you stayed like that for several quiet moments. Your head on her shoulder, as she rubbed your back seeking to console without fully understanding why.  
You pulled away, and stared teary eyed and blissful back at her, placing a chaste kiss on her lips.  
“I don’t need it anymore.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there you have it. Words cannot express how excited I am to hear from you so please, even if you have never commented take a minute to let me know what you think. This is the longest, and most involved story I've ever written, and I would love to hear how you felt about it. I do plan on posting more fic. I'm not sure when I'll get around to that, as this story has taken up so much of my time. But I do hope you'll keep an eye out for me. 
> 
> All my best.


	12. All Of Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Christmas one-shot or an optional epilogue. The story reads exactly the same without it. But if you had been wondering how the holiday season finds our unlikely ship then please enjoy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Set during the season five Christmas episode this chapter is almost entirely AU. Melissa has confessed her role in the murder of Bethany Young and has been MIA ever since.

It’s been years since you and Melissa have spent Christmas apart, and no amount of forced holiday fun, or obnoxiously loud Fair Isle sweaters can force you to embrace the holiday spirit. It’s certainly not for lack of effort on Emily’s part. The girl practically bleeds tinsel this time of year.  
Anything would be better than Melissa’s absence. You would gladly trade it for a hundred silent holidays. The countless celebrations during which you refused to sit next to each other, and did not exchange gifts or gazes.  
Your whole family can feel it. It was two weeks after thanksgiving before the tree went up (which is thirteen days behind schedule), and you weren’t home when it happened. Decorating has always been a task your mother and sister conquered together. It’s unsurprising she left you out of it altogether. Melissa isn’t here to laugh with her, to stand in the center of the living room and assign places for each tree ornament. Meticulous glitz, as calculated as a paint by numbers.  
You couldn’t even get her a present. Which begs the question, what do you get the woman in self-imposed exile? What do you get the woman who killed for you? She has been extremely guarded about her location. Evasive even with your parents, much to your father’s dismay. He hoped that sharing this burden with his eldest would have brought them closer. That he could redraw the treaty lines with your mother if he had Melissa in his corner. However, she is loyal as she is secretive. Entitled as she is irreverent. And your father has a laundry list of debts to recompense before he can call in a favor with either of you.  
You consider watching Melissa’s confessional for the fifty sixth time. Just to see her face, hear her voice. But you really don’t feel like starting your day with tears for her. Not again.  
From your bedroom window the barn sleeps wrapped to it’s waist in a blanket of white. If you didn’t know better you would swear that the building mourned the loss of her as acutely as you do. It was your playground this time of year, when you were both small. Your mother would wrap you from head to toe in her warmest cashmere scarves, and banish you to the then unfinished, unheated barn until lunch time. You can still hear Melissa’s laughter bouncing off the chilled concrete in girlish peels, closer to the sound of bells than anything else. Under the large oak tree you see yourself plunging back first in the snow. Arms, and legs pushing your angel wings into the ground. Melissa towering above you with her hand extended, as she carefully tried to pull you up without marring the design. An impish grin spread across your purple lips dancing with the mischievous twinkle in your eye. You feel your woman’s face regress alongside the memory, and suddenly your reflection in the glass is hardly six years old. You pulled Melissa down by the wrist in a fit of cackles and she tumbled face first into the crisply packed powder. Then you were both laughing, and kept on even as she proceeded to pelt you with handfuls of snow. Rubbing it in your hair, over your face until your mother’s footsteps rang out clear and pointed over the deck demanding that she let you up. Her voice lost its edge when she heard your delighted squeals, and instead she acted as referee over your ensuing snowball fight from the safety of the patio. Pulling the front of her down jacket closed tightly around her neck. Her cheeks swiftly blotching red in the brisk breeze. Her face as smooth and striking as Melissa’s face is now. It seems impossible that your mother was ever so young.  
“Spencer?”  
Name first, knock after and as the door is already opening. A Veronica Hastings Trademark entrance. You would feign annoyance with her, but it’s all you can do to affix your swift eroding mask of steely indifference before she registers that far off look in your eye. You cover your tracks a moment too late, and your mother stands on the threshold of your room with her hand on the door, and a package in the crook of her arm.  
“Sweetheart are you alright?”  
The familiar warmth, and building pressure of tears presses against the back of your eyes. You swallow back your gushing nostalgia and offer her a tight lipped smile and sharp nod. She looks tired. Your father’s betrayal and your sister’s absence have aged her. She extends the package in her arms towards you and seems reluctant to step further into the room. Like your sadness is a cold to be caught. You step quickly around the foot of your bed, and handle the brown paper package with a clinicians scrupulous care. Your mother quits your door immediately, without a word. The sharp click of her heels snapping across the kitchen tile, and out the backdoor.  
You listen intently until the steps fade into nothing, and the garage door opens. Where did she say she was going again?  
Locking yourself inside your room, even your footsteps are measured, and gentle as you inspect the parcel from the perch of your bed. There is no return address, and that is never a good sign. Turning the item over in your hands you note none of the typical –A team complexion. In point of fact the most disarming thing about the package is its unassuming execution. With shy hands you pull the ends of the white string bow, and folding the thread in half lie it next to your legs on the comforter for later inspection. The package you unwrap with a single sliding index finger beneath the tape. As though you’ll be able to dust the article afterwards for prints. When you finish folding the wrapping into a perfect four inch square, the small ached sound that escapes your mouth is enough to remind you just how pathetic a creature you truly are- even in your solitude.  
Melissa’s face obscured by wisps of her dark hair that managed to escape from her riding helmet. Her cheeks pink from the wind, and pressed against your forehead. The same photo you threw against the wall the day your parents told you that Melissa and Wren were engaged to be married. The heartache you felt in that moment burning just as brightly now. She’s like a phantom limb that way, and you an amputee. If there is always a twinge of distress that accompanies her memory, why do you revel in it so? There is little time to deliberate. Your fingers already clicking away at an email.  
'Need to see you. Now.'  
She responds as though she has been waiting for word from you all morning. Despite the fact that you have spoken only once since her confession of guilt in the murder of Bethany Young. Predictably not for lack of trying on your part.  
'5pm EST.'  
It will be ten o’clock in London, assuming she’s still in London. Melissa wouldn’t confirm one way or the other when last you spoke. You had never seen her so despondent as when she finally agreed to skype you the week after her disappearance. Her eyes were bruised and swollen, and her hair was pulled back in a disheveled bun with an oily sheen. She said your name in a sigh that sounded like a promise. You couldn’t keep your fingers from the computer screen, and you didn’t care how ridiculous it made you look. There was comfort to be found in tracing the lines of her image.  
When you lift the photo by the edges of its dark wood frame something falls lightly against your thigh. A second photograph, unframed. The back of it curling slightly with age, and emblazoned with Melissa’s elegant scrawl.

“Between the acting of a dreadful thing  
And the first motion, all the interim is  
Like a phantasma or a hideous dream.”

You hold the photo of Red Coat you found so long ago buried in the bottom of Melissa’s dresser drawer. How many times had you ransacked her space in the barn searching for it? What did it mean then and more importantly what does it mean now? Why would she send you this hastily snapped pictured alongside such a fond memory?  
With a weary sigh you arrange the picture beside the immaculately folded wrapping paper and string. Items you keep deliberately placed on the side of your bed, unwilling to discard for reasons you would rather not deconstruct at this juncture.  
Standing with a stretch you hold the framed portrait she sent with gentle almost reverent hands, and place it on the corner of your dresser. The same spot it occupied originally, and the room itself seems to gather around it’s edges. Like life is slowly settling back into place.  
She must have looked for it the last time she was here. How else would she know it was missing? You never told her what you did with the photograph, or when you destroyed it. Tossing it away like so much trash in the hopes that your heart would lighten at the loss. It didn’t.  
Then again, how did Melissa know any of the things she knew? How did she anticipate even your knee jerk reactions? She knew you were hunting the Red Coat photo. She surmised you had destroyed this picture of the two of you. As infuriating as her near omniscient insight into your actions and motives was at times, you knew full well that it was not entirely without its advantages. A weak blush spreads across your cheeks and you caught the stirrings of a private smile in your mirror’s reflection. The sight only leaving you cold.  
Shaking your mind free of distraction, you set about tidying the room. After all a Hastings never entertains in a setting that is less than presentable. But she won’t be here will she? The thought catches you off guard, and you drop the afghan you were folding over the arm of your settee. Staring at the closed lid of your laptop, you remind yourself that it will only be her face. Her voice crossing an ocean to find your ear. Your chest aches at the memory of her hands, and you leave your own bedroom in a rush. Putting as much distance as you could between yourself and the room she so often occupied for a few stolen hours.  
There is a short note on the island in the kitchen. You recognize your mother’s handwriting immediately, and barely read the words. Feeling a familiar pain bloom inside your gut. The where and the wherefore as unimportant as always. At least this year she remembered to wish you a Merry Christmas before she left. Even if only on paper.  
The kitchen offers little reprieve while you start a second pot of coffee. What _is_ safe anymore? What corner of the house is empty of her memory? You settle down at the island with a large mug curled between your cold hands, and look over your shoulder towards the patio. Your eyes seeking the barn door, and finding it pressed shut against the snow. The coffee blisters your tongue as you take a deep drink. Letting it alight the walls of your throat. You’re still here. The pain is real and it grounds you to this moment. You are alive, and you are alone, and nothing will ever change that. If you’re going to hurt this way, you might as well be the cause.  
Standing with more conviction than you’ve had in the past few weeks you fling open the cupboards under the sink, and fill a small tub with cleaning supplies.  
You slip your arms into the sleeves of Melissa’s winter coat, and tuck the bucket under your arm. Armed with an arsenal of detergents, and your coffee you blaze a trail across the deck until you find yourself stalled at the front door of the barn. It seems so long ago you danced in this same spot, with Melissa’s shadow barely visible behind the curtains. Were you as nervous then as you are now? If it was yours to experience again you would not have dawdled at the door. You would not have wasted a moment on internal debate. You think that but you are equally paralyzed now. Terrified by the certainty that her scent is waiting for you there. You don’t believe in ghosts. You believe in the olfactory response, and it’s role in memory. Things you would forget if you could. But you don’t mean that either.  
The door makes a slight protest under your palm, and a rush of wind pushes you and several inches of powdered snow across the threshold. You shut the door behind you with your foot. It takes a moment for the air inside to settle against the swirl of invasion. When it does your throat clenches, and your hands tremble. Hastily you set the cleaning supplies on the low coffee table in her living room, and nearly spilling the contents of your mug. Focusing on the task at hand you hunt for the climate control on the wall and the heater rumbles to life with a drowning groan.  
Barely needing the warmth it will bring you quickly shed your layers. Your own internal temperature rising with every moment you spend in her company. Hanging the coat beside the door you take carefully measured steps into the main room. The bed is unmade. Sheets cascading down to the cold hard floor. For a moment you can pretend that Melissa is in the shower, and that you belong here. Isn’t that all you’ve ever wanted? To belong somewhere, or to someone? You close your eyes as you sit primly on the edge of the bed, wanting desperately to keep the covers beneath you exactly as she left them. Inhaling deeply the scent of her perfume while you run your fingers down the edges of her strewn blankets. In the dark space behind your eyes the images flicker of the last night you spent in this room with her. The only night. Reflexively your back straightens, and if you’re still and if you’re silent you can feel the warmth of her lips trailing down your spine. The sound of your own erratic heart echoes in your ears, and it is unsurprising that when you open your eyes your vision blurs with unshed tears.  
With a defeated groan you stand, and make your way back to the cleaning supplies. Your coffee now tepid from your brief excursion across the lawn. You drink it all the same, with a grimace on your face.  
Grabbing a soft cloth from the bucket you set to dusting the photographs adorning her walls first. Grateful for the time you have alone to admire her work. As you trace each boarder with a terry cloth covered hand you wonder what difference any of this will make. The dust will continue to gather in her absence. A clean space will not make it safe for her return. Still the gesture comforts you. You hope it will comfort her to see that you are here, protecting her things. Keeping them presentable. That she is never as forgotten as you feel every single day the moment you open your eyes.  
Between sweeping the floor, and the heart wrenching task of making the bed a question crawls inside your head. So simple you can hardly believe you didn’t ask yourself sooner.  
Do you tell her?  
Can you tell her that you are now a person of interest in the murder of Bethany Young? Nay, the prime suspect in her homicide? That while she is barricaded in some undoubtedly decadent apartment thousands of miles away, you are forbidden to leave the city of Rosewood? You stall with a laden dustpan in your hands as the realization hits you. That even if she asked again. Even if she said the words “Come with me”, you couldn’t join her.  
Poised on the bed your laptop chirps the notification of a call before you can resolve an answer either way. You drop the dustpan against the floor, and the broom lands beside it with a smack. Kicking up a cloud of dust and grit that clings to the edges of her white comforter. There is a delay before the audio syncs with her face, and when you hear your tentatively whispered name her lips have already sealed. You wish she would say it again, just once more to remind you the shape her mouth makes around your letters.  
“Hello Melissa.”  
She smiles brightly. The skin around her eyes wrinkling from the effort. Though she is far more composed and manicured than the last time you saw her, she is equally exhausted. Her eyes alight with a mischievous satisfaction you remember well.  
“What are you doing in my barn?”  
The emphasis on ‘my’ both playful and challenging. She leans forward slightly on the edge of her desk, pressing her face into her palm. Her dark hair in heavy curls, spills over her shoulders. Like she’s angling in for a secret.  
“Until recently I was cleaning it.”  
You retrieve the soiled rag from your back pocket, and let it hang precariously over her white bed spread before throwing it over your shoulder. Something dark slithers over her face, and she schools her features quickly. Covering a very real discomfort with the clearing of her throat.  
“You don’t have to do that.”  
That’s what she says. What she means is that there’s no point. You already know that. There is no reason it should hurt as acutely as it does. With a flip of your hair you whisk the laptop onto your legs and lean back against the headboard. Her pillows smashing under your weight usher the scent of her shampoo around your head with renewed vigor.  
“I didn’t have anything else to do.”  
There is a harsh defiance in your tone, a lingering resentment that she catches in her too bright teeth. Her eyebrow arches skeptically, and she twines a perfectly quaffed curl behind her ear.  
“Now that I doubt very much.”  
It’s vague, carefully covered, but you could swear that the lilt of innuendo lingered around the edges of her retort. As if sensing your unwillingness to play, she folds her arms against the tabletop. It pulls her face back slightly from the screen. The blue glow from the screen exacerbating the circles under her eyes, and giving stark contrast to her cheeks. Which are sunken, and pulled tightly against her bones.  
“How are you?”  
You ask the question innocently enough, yet your voice betrays a worrisome tone. She straightens her shoulders, and chews the corner of her mouth for a moment before responding.  
“The same.”  
She offers you a weak smile, and the screens glow makes her eyes gleam like empty shining orbs. She looks like an impostor wearing your sister’s face. Which would be fine if you weren’t constantly trolled by masks of Ali’s face.  
“The light in the room is wrong Melissa. Go somewhere brighter.”  
Her brow furrows at your request, but she doesn’t press the issue. Those dark eyes scanning your own, even an ocean apart makes your skin crawl. You can feel them pressing into you all the same, and you are assured even before she drags the laptop to the center of a very large bed that this is your Melissa.  
“Better?”  
She feigns annoyance with lips curling in approval as she stretches her body across the comforter. A garish red color that Melissa would never choose. The headboard rising up behind her in ghoulish curls of aged, and heavily lacquered wood.  
“Better. What’s with the renaissance decor?”  
Melissa smiles, and the crimson coverlet warms her pallor as she traces a thin gold line of stitching with the pad of her thumb.  
“Came with the room. Haven’t felt inclined to alter the ambiance. It’s charming in a way.”  
She looks about the room dreamily, a heavy sigh leaving her lungs when her eyes return to yours. You both fall silent, teetering on the edge of a very dangerous conversation. One she will most certainly not entertain. She can’t blame you for trying.  
“Where are you?”  
The words are little more than a whisper, but she hears them. Reproach tightening her jaw, and pursing her lips. A strange sadness pushes it’s way between the two of you, and even before she deflects you’re sure that she will.  
“Did you get your gift?”  
Forcing a lightness to her voice that neither of you feel, nor ever hoped to possess.  
“I did. I especially enjoyed the Shakespeare quote. Julius Caesar right? That was morose even for you Melissa.”  
She laughs that oddly girlish giggle of hers as you sit with your arms crossed over your fluttering heart. Stewing in the fury that another skirted answer stirs in your chest. Her head tilts in reprimand.  
“I believe it was Brutus’s line. Not Caesar’s.”  
An ill-timed correction is one misstep too many, even if it was meant in jest. The volume of your barked rebuttal takes you both by surprise.  
“I’m well aware of who said it. I was naming the play.”  
A weary sigh escapes her chest as she straightens an arm under her head and leans closer to the screen. The top of her powder grey oxford parting open slightly, exposing the caramel colored skin of her chest.  
“Spencer don’t. Please.”  
Her wide brown eyes pleading, and filling with something deeper and stranger than simple regret. The sound of your name stealing the fire from your lungs, and replacing it with a smothering weight. Your voice is softer when you continue.  
“Don’t what?”  
Melissa runs a frustrated hand back through her chestnut locks. Pulling her lower lip into her mouth, and staring distractedly at her feet. Her voice is low and measured.  
“Don’t ruin the time we have together, when we have so very little.”  
Spoken so plainly, and with such naked sincerity you forget why you’re so angry in the first place. Then you recall, you’re always angry. For as far back as you can remember you have been angry with her, your parents, this town. And you are so tired.  
“I appreciate the photograph you sent. The picture of us at riding camp. What was the purpose of the other?”  
Melissa rises up slightly to unhook the clasp of her necklace, and lays it delicately on the nightstand. Slipping her thin silver watch off her wrist without flourish. Like everything she does, the movement has an efficient elegance. She lifts the laptop onto her thighs and reclines in a position mirroring your own. Her back straight against the mountainous pillows of the foreign bed in some furnished room, where you will never step foot.  
“I wanted to remind you of something so I sent you a picture for each.”  
She is a poised portrait on the screen. Though her voice and eyes might offer insight into her well-being her perfectly executed posture, and deliberately chilly aesthetic do not. You forgot how safe she makes you feel. Just the sight of her.  
“And what would that be?”  
Her voice very nearly cracks with emotion when she responds, and the pained force she exudes to keep it steady makes you reel with guilt.  
“That you’re not safe with Ali in Rosewood. And that you are loved.”  
You wish you could record this moment. You'll settle for committing it to memory. Her eyes glistening when she says the words, much like your own when you receive them. A stray tear threatens to eek it’s way from the corner of your lid before you notice it’s dampness pressing against your lashes. You whisk it away with your middle finger, and notice Melissa’s hand coming up from her lap. The gesture dies before it’s born, but you know she wants to trace her your face with her fingers. That she wants to be the one to wipe your tears, or hold you in her arms while the storm inside you rages without end. Like she has so many times before.  
“I know.”  
Now it’s your voice that waivers under the weight of your words. Your throat that clears to cover your engulfing loneliness. Melissa starts to fidget. Pulling at some imaginary thread beside her on the bed with shaking fingers. She worries her bottom lip with her white teeth, unsure of how to continue. Uncertain of whether or not she should.  
“How are you Spencer?”  
Softly spoken, and oozing with concern which she does not seek to conceal any longer. She doesn’t wait for your reply before adding her observation.  
“You look tired.”  
Averting your stare to just above the laptops camera you catch your reflection in the mirror above her dresser at the end of the bed. You look tired, and you feel exhausted. Carrying on a carefully evasive conversation with the one person who’s return to Rosewood could exhonerate you in an ongoing murder investigation. You let your eyes fall back to the screen, and find her waiting with a breath caught in her lungs. Her nervous hands still pulling rogue threads from the top of the blanket.  
“Spencer…”  
The name crawls out of her as though dragged, and lingers heavily in the silence that follows. Her delicate hand clamping painfully tight against the back of her neck, as more tears fill her eyes and stubbornly refuse to fall. If you say the words then all of this is real. If you tell her she will come home. She told you once that everything she has done was to protect you. You have never believed that more than you do right now. Which is exactly why you lie to her. This time Melissa is the one who needs protection. You’ll find a way. You always do.  
“I’m fine.”  
One tear shines a bright string down her rosy cheek as she smiles genuinely with a shake of her head.  
“Liar.”  
You shrug, and with it the crushing weight of your considerable burdens shifts. For now you are of no concern to anyone other than Melissa. It’s all the focus you need to forget for an evening. The next words out of your mouth are not a means to deflect. They are the truest thing you know.  
“I miss you.”  
A crooked smile curls at the corner of her mouth, and her eyes brighten. She wipes the tears from her eyes with both hands, and sits a bit straighter.  
“I miss you too.”  
You close your eyes, perhaps from embarrassment. The confessions tumbling freely from your lips. As is they only needed a moment’s weakness. A single excuse.  
“I can’t get away from you Melissa. So I figured I might as well come to the barn. It’s so much worse here than I thought. Everything still smells like you.”  
Melissa toys with the top button on her blouse, and gazes thoughtfully to the side. Her lips purse, and sheepishly she nods as if settling some unspoken argument with herself. But when she continues she doesn’t venture a look at towards the screen.  
“I walk to work most days. I can’t tell you the relief it is to walk uninhibited down a strange street. Miles away from anyone who knows you. A few days ago a girl crossed my path. It was her hair that reminded me of you. The way it draped down her back. I followed her for six blocks before she turned into a coffee shop. I knew it wasn’t you. I watched her until she took a seat beside the window and caught me staring. She wasn’t angry, or alarmed. She just smiled at me. I thought about going inside. I was twenty minutes late for work.”  
Warily Melissa’s eyes return to yours. Her face lightening when she finds you smiling sadly at her admission. You let your itching fingers trace the outline of her image.  
“I wouldn’t have been angry.”  
You don’t have to clarify your meaning to her. And the ease with which you spoke the words startles you at first. How readily they were offered. In the silence that follows you have a moment to scour their sincerity, and find them to be true. You wouldn’t be angry. It’s more painful to think of Melissa alone in a strange place, than to imagine her finding so modicum of comfort in someone else’s arms.  
“I wish so much that I could say the same Spencer.”  
Your eyes had wandered with your roaming fingers, but when you look at her you see it. All the possessiveness you felt rolling off her in fierce waves the night she asked you whether or not you had slept with Toby. Such a stark contrast to the emptiness she met you with that next morning when she told you that if you hadn’t yet you soon would. She had been right. That had to be a terrible certainty to live with. That your lover was not your own.  
“You don’t have to Melissa.”  
Her eyes fall to her lap, and her index finger rubs anxiously over her bottom lip. The air in the room grows heavy, as you realize that outside the lawn is pitch black.  
“I think of it often. That night in barn.”  
You close your eyes, and nod with a hand running back through your hair. It almost feels like hers.  
“So do I.”  
The screen rocks gently as Melissa crosses her long legs. Her fingers still tracing her lips as she speaks. You wonder if she’s trying to smother the words before they slip out. But you doubt it. When her voice reaches out for you again it’s in a whisper, and you make no attempt to conceal the shiver it pulls out of you.  
“When I laid you face down on the bed, and opened the back of your dress. The sounds you made when my lips pressed against your spine. You felt fevered you were so warm.”  
Unconsciously you lick your lips, and a pleased smile graces her mouth. Her eyes dark and knowing in an unnervingly intimate way.  
“I couldn’t get close enough to you. Not even when I was inside of you. It’s never enough.”  
Your fingers twitch against your stomach, and Melissa leans closer to the screen.  
“Close your eyes.”  
You make no protest. You’ve always preferred it this way. Melissa telling you what to do. Taking what she wants. You steal one last glimpse of her face before the darkness swallows you. And you abandon yourself to her direction eagerly.  
“I can still feel you underneath me. I can feel the weight of your hair in my hands as I pulled your head back.”  
Your fingers dance over the waistband of your jeans and you wait. You always wait for permission.  
“Do it. I want you to.”  
Your fingers fumble with the button of your pants as her low voice finds you in the dark. Continuing down the ransacked path of shared memories, and stolen moments as you draw your index finger through your own heat.  
“Can you feel me Spencer?”  
The use of your name deliberate as everything she does. Harshly spoken, it’s different from the caress of her voice, and closer to nails on your thigh. Your breathy whispered ‘yes’ is all the fuel she needs to continue.  
“I wanted to ruin you once. The way you ruined me.”  
Her clipped words dripping with violent promises as your breath hitches in your throat. Melissa’s voice breathing existence into long forgotten bruises. The small shocked gasp that escaped you the night she showed up in the center of your room to confront you about Wren, ushers from your lips again. As if the memory of the action still frightens you. Even now you feel the throb of your blood beating against her cool fingers when she pinned you to the wall.  
“But not anymore…”  
The words trail down your body like a soothing palm. Your body trembles remembering the urgency of her touch during, the slow reverence after.  
“I want to cover your body with mine. To feel your back arch into my hand as you press yourself against me. I would use every inch of myself to adore you.”  
Your chest compresses with her phantom weight, and your legs clench as your toes curl. A surprisingly loud moan rocking through you that vaguely resembles her name.  
“I love you Spencer.”  
Your eyes bolt open half expecting to see her slamming the lid of her laptop closed. But Melissa stares back you flushed, and scarce of breath. Her lips lifting at the corners in a lazy smile, eyes brighter and more alert than you’ve seen in a long while.  
“Did you-”  
Melissa tosses the laptop to the side, and only her legs are visible in the corner of the screen. Her voice firm and controlled when she cuts you off.  
“It’s late. We should get some sleep.”  
The skin of her legs glows faintly in the light of her bedside lamp. And the audio rustles with the sound of shed clothing. She returns to camera with a flutter of blankets as she pulls her way down between them. Her smile widening when she catches a familiar gleam in your eye.  
“Goodnight Spence.”  
Her hand reaches for the lid of the laptop, and you pull the laptop off your legs to bring it to your face.  
“Wait.”  
She drops her hand, and curls a pillow under her chin. But she doesn’t ask. She doesn’t have to. You’re stealing all her best lines tonight anyway.  
“Stay with me.”  
Not a question really, and far from a command. She reaches up to flick off the lamp, and the light streaming over her bare chest threatens to pull a sob from yours. Melissa tucks the pillow back under her head. The eerie glow from the laptop screen somehow less disconcerting than it was before. She doesn’t agree aloud. The pulling of blankets up under her chin is the only acquiescence you need.  
You stand and undress yourself quickly. Flipping the lights off in the barn. Outside the motion sensors illuminate the porch. You think to pull the curtains to have a better look. But not tonight. Whatever is coming will find you soon enough. You crawl into bed by the light of the screen and settle on your side. Melissa’s eyes still not shut, seem to await your return anxiously. She watches intently as you curl yourself under her covers.  
“Merry Christmas Spencer.”  
Her hand laying lightly on the edge of her laptop when her eyes finally close. You place your hand similarly, and in the blue half light it’s almost as comforting as having her beside you.

 

 

…..  
A faint chill creeps it’s way between the covers, and claws between your shoulder blades with icy fingers. The floorboards settle under foreign weight and you bolt upright in bed with the covers pulled tight under your arm.  
Emily shifts on nervous legs beside the bed. Her cheeks pink from the cold, and something else by the way she averts her eyes. She stares down at her feet and addresses you meekly after several awkward attempts.  
“You weren’t in your room. I figured you’d be here.”  
Emily’s eyes lift landing just over your shoulder, as she pulls her arms around her chest. You follow her line of sight and see the laptop still open, but Melissa has gone. There is however a note left propped against her pillow that reads:

“You’re beautiful when you sleep.  
Didn’t have the heart to wake you.  
Will be in touch.”  
-M

Hastily you slam the lid shut, and secure the covers tighter under your arms. Your eyes dart everywhere in an attempt to avoid Emily. Who continues to watch you closely while pulling at the evergreen edges of her outrageously festive sweater. She clears her throat, and plops down on the foot of the bed. Releasing the breath she was holding as she lands.  
There are a thousand excuses you could make. You know that. You just can’t seem to choose a response. You’re already caught. It’s written all over Emily, and you’re so sick of lying. A small part of you is grateful that it was Em who walked in. Yet you square your shoulders when she turns in your direction. Only to find nothing in her sad brown eyes but confusion, and more than a little pity.  
“My mom told me to come get you.”  
A barely audible whisper, that sounds suspiciously close to an apology. You feel your shoulders deflate, and your cheeks fire with shame. Oddly enough it isn’t over Melissa. But Pam knowing you would be alone on Christmas again this year. Emily continues with lightness that would sound forced, but reaches her eyes in earnest.  
“She refuses to start cooking breakfast until you’re seated at the table. So right now Spencer, you’re standing between Hanna and pancakes.”  
Your mouth goes dry, and a lopsided smile lifts Emily’s features as she twines a lock of black hair behind her ear. Sputtering briefly you straighten your back with an all too serious scowl on your face, and reply gravely.  
“That is a very dangerous place to be.”  
Emily laughs just once, and smacks the side of your legs before lifting off the bed.  
“Get dressed, I’ll meet you in the kitchen and you can drive us back.”  
The snow topples inside the moment Emily opens the door covering her reindeer adorned boots immediately. You scold her playfully.  
“You walked over here in this?”  
Emily’s eyes drift with dazzling mirth over the fresh cover of snow sleeping on your lawn. Entirely undisturbed save her own footprints leading towards the barn.  
“Duh Spence. It’s the most wonderful time of the year! Now get your ass out of bed, and let’s move before Hanna eats the pancake batter with a spoon.”  
Emily bounds knee deep into the snow, sluggishly tugging the door closed behind her. You dress yourself in a hurry, feet protesting on tiptoes against the cold floor. Pulling your hair free from the back of last night’s sweater you stare at the unmade bed, and consider straightening it. Something pulls at your heart, a new pain as you stare intently at the closed lid of the laptop. You decide it’s better to leave the bed that way. The sheets pulled back, almost like an invitation.  
Pulling your arms through the sleeves of Melissa’s coat, you can barely discern the shadow of Emily in your kitchen window. And somehow you know that the moment you join her, all of this will be forgotten. She will never speak of it, and neither will you. Just one more secret to add to the ever growing list.  
Casting a last look over your shoulder, you find the room exactly as you left it. The surfaces gleaming from your attention a bit brighter than before. You hold the door handle in your chilled palm, and the ghost of your breath clouds in your face.  
“Merry Christmas Melissa.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to my lovely beta Adrablepancreas. Please stop by FF.net and check out her work.  
> I wanted to post this continuation in time for the holidays and I am so pleased that I was able. As several of you know I've been taking time away from fan fiction to focus on completing the rough draft of my first novel. I'm very excited to share the news with each of you that the manuscript is finished. I have a lot of editing ahead of me, but the bones are there.  
> To everyone who reached out to me in the comments, on twitter, and tumblr I would like to extend my deepest thanks. Your encouragement has meant the world to me, and without it I may not have finished my book. So take this chapter as gift from me to you. Happy Holidays dear readers.


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